


Melting Wax, Crawling Vines

by Theyreonlynoodles



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: Angst, Bo gets a sister figure, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Lester gets a friend, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Vincent gets some love, Violence, basically this story is how I think a romance would start with Vincent, eventually lmao, intent to kidnap but never actually happens, reader with a backstory, the boys are serial killers and were not gonna act like theyre not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29864688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theyreonlynoodles/pseuds/Theyreonlynoodles
Summary: You're heading towards a new town, a new life, when your car breaks down. A friendly face takes you to Ambrose, the place you end up not being able to leave even if you wanted to
Relationships: Vincent Sinclair/Fem!Reader, Vincent Sinclair/Reader, Vincent/Reader
Comments: 82
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If y'all have read my stuff before, know that angst is coming. But! I promise it'll be worth it :)

You stared at the underneath of the hood of your car. Something was wrong, you just didn't know _what_ . Sure, you knew how to change a tire and how to check your oil. You could probably put in a new battery if you really needed to. But when it came to just about everything else, _well_ \- You didn't know your ass from your elbows. It didn't help that you didn't necessarily have a tool box in your car. You used to, but you'd taken it out to make space for your move. Yeah, you had just about everything you owned that would fit into your little station wagon packed into it. Except a toolbox. The rest of your belongings was in a truck, which was definitely gonna make it to your new apartment before you did at this rate. 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as the Louisiana sun beat down on your neck. It was early July. You thought making the move before the fall started would've been a good decision, and it was one you'd stand by, but you just wished it wasn't so _hot_. It was early afternoon and the sun was at its highest. You swiped at the sweat on your brow, shut the hood of your car, and went to get the map out of your glove box. You tried to pinpoint where you were, but it was nearly impossible without any nearby towns to use as a landmark. Finally, you realized what you needed to do. Just as the first car you'd seen pass by started coming down the road.

You waved your hand, trying to flag down the blue chevrolet truck that was speeding down the back road. You almost expected it to pass you, but it slowed down to a stop. When it did, the first thing that hit you was the smell. You tried not to make a face of disgust as a man with a dirty face lowered his window to greet you. His driver side door was red, and he grinned out from under a green cap.

"Hi, there. Need a hand?" He asked, and you gave him a grateful smile. He'd stepped out to assess the damage, rubbing his hands together as he came towards your vehicle. You guessed the roadkill in the back was the cause of the smell, and you were too polite to comment. Instead, you told him your name and said,

"I'm having car trouble, but I- Well, I don't really know what's wrong with it." And the man responded with,

"The names Lester," And he paused to give you a friendly grin. "I'll take a look and see if I can figure it out." He said, and you quickly thanked him. You watched as his eyes landed on the things stuffed into your car. "You heading somewhere?" He asked, and you rubbed your neck before you helped him pop open the hood.

"I'm moving, or, at least, trying to." You supplied the name of the town you were moving to, and he gave you a grin as he looked up from where he'd been studying the interior of your vehicle to say,

"Oh, I know that town. About an hour- hour and a half from here?" And you nodded. That'd been your original estimate for your arrival. Now, you were lucky if you made it there today. The two of you chatted politely, but he ended up closing the hood with a click and shaking his head. "I'm sorry, miss, but this is beyond me." He admitted, and you still said,

"Well, thank you for trying. Do you happen to know if there's a tow-truck company nearby- Or a mechanic?" You asked. He stared at you for a moment, and he almost looked hesitant to tell you. He was thumbing his chin, before he finally said,

"There's one about fifteen minutes from here." And you tilted your head. You hadn't seen any towns on your map, let alone one that close. But you weren't one to argue with a local. He continued, saying, "Bo runs the car shop in Ambrose. I can take you if you want." And gratitude filled you. While you knew he was a strange man, you weren't exactly in the position to deny the kindness of strangers. Plus, Lester seemed harmless, even if you knew from experience that you weren't always the best judge of characters. Still, you reminded yourself that it was either hitch a ride with him or wait for the next car to come along. _If any did come along_. So, you pushed away any potential paranoia and asked,

"Are you sure? Only if it won't be too much trouble." You said, and you watched the way his grin grew wider and wider.

"No trouble at all, miss." And that was all it took for you to pile into Lesters truck. You brought a backpack of yours, and filled it with your wallet, a water, and a change of clothes with all your toiletries. You figured, worse case scenario, you ended up renting a night at whatever motel Ambrose held while Bo, the man Lester had mentioned, tried to fix whatever was wrong with your car. You’d made sure to lock it, hoping that no one would strip or break into your car.

The smell was stronger in his truck, but you did your best to ignore it. You figured it would be impolite to mention it, and even moreso to ask him to roll down the windows. Lester wasn't one for silences, and he asked,

"So, why you moving out here anyways?" He asked, and you thought that was a fair question to ask. You were from a more populated city, and your new town was nowhere near as crowded. You pushed your hair behind your ear, and supplied,

"Oh, new job." And Lester was quick to ask before you could elaborate.

"Oh, congratulations. What do ya do?" And you gave him a smile. He was friendly and sweet, albeit a little rough around the edges. He was one of the friendlier people you'd met, and you figured your new town would be just swell if it had more people like him.

"I'm a teacher. I teach ASL." You told him, answering what you guessed his next question was going to be before he had the chance to ask. When he turned to look at you, a small bit of confusion on his face, you were quick to say, "American sign language." And clarity washed through his face.

"Oh, why they need a- an ASL teacher over there?" He asked, and you played with the edge of your jeans. You knew about the job description, but you didn't want to tell him that you'd jumped at the first opportunity you saw to fill a position. Hoped for something as far from your hometown as possible. _As far away from-_ You stopped that train of thought. You didn't want to think about _him_. This was supposed to be a new start, and instead you told him,

"I'm teaching some older students as a night class," By older students, you meant adults. "And then some kindergarten students." And you watched as a laugh escaped his lips. He slapped his hand against the steering wheel, before he said,

"What do kindergartners need to know about sign language?" And you bit your lip. You felt as thought you'd given this talk about a thousand times before, but it didn't stop you before you said,

"Well, some of the kids are deaf, but some of them may just be nonverbal. This is a way for them to communicate when speaking feels like too much. And the night classes are for their parents, I'm assuming, so they can understand their kids. It's important, y'know, for them to have a way to express themselves, even if it's different from how most people do it. Some kids are just special cases." You explained it kindly with a shrug. Surely, it seemed obvious to you, but you were well aware that not everyone knew how useful the skill could be. He made a face, one where he nodded and jut out his lip. He rubbed his chin again, before he asked,

"Nonverbal, huh? Like mute?" He asked, and you gave him a nod. He nodded back, before looking out the windshield. "Sign language for mute kids. Express themselves. Huh." The truck was only silent for a beat. “You get lots of special cases?” He asked, and you couldn’t stop the smile that graced your lips.

"I specialize in special cases." You joked, and Lester was quick to laugh. He made a little hoot, seeming pleasantly surprised by your willingness to joke or perhaps by how comfortable you seemed with him. You smiled to yourself, enjoying the company of your new friend. Even if he wasn't from the town you were headed, it would be nice to know at least one person nearby. You'd started looking all around the truck, before your eyes fell on the man besides you. it'd been a quick glance over, getting a good look at him. You hadn't noticed it before, but you saw a knife on his hip when he lifted his shirt to mop at the sweat on the back of his neck. You'd barely glanced at it for a second before your eyes were being ripped away by his voice.

"You like knives?" He said, a tone of excitement in his voice. "Tools of the trade. You wanna see it?" And you agreed. He pulled it out, flashing the blade to you and said, "That's a bowie. Cut through anything." He said, and you agreed with a nod. To make conversation, you reached into your boot and pulled out a small pocket knife. It was much smaller compared to his, and you said,

"All I got is this, but it does the trick." And Lester let out a low whistle. He sheathed his knife back its holder, and you offered it out to him for him to examine. He pressed the button, letting the blade switch out. He looked it over. It was small and thin, but, as you said, it did the trick with most things.

"Didn't peg you as the type. What does a teacher need with a knife?" He asked as he passed it back to you, and you pushed the blade away as you answered.

"Oh, y'know, cutting up all the apples my students give me." You said, joking lightly. Lester grinned again, and you tucked your knife back into your boot. Again, you didn't want to actually get into why you had the knife with him. It was a layer of protection, something to make you feel safe. And, after the past couple of years, you weren't going to deny yourself anything extra to do that. He stopped the car, and you looked up to look around where you were. He had stopped seemingly in the middle of nowhere, right in front of a small creek. "Why- why'd we stop?" You asked him, and, for a moment, a flash of alarm rang through your head. You'd never been the best judge of character, and, for a moment, you were worried that you'd gotten yourself into another sticky situation. The same type of situation as to why you slept with that very knife under your pillow, why you'd decided to leave town- But Lester was as nonchalant as could be as he opened the door and stepped out. He said,

"Oh, I gotta flip my hubs into four wheel. You just sit tight, y'hear?" And the alarm inside your head faded. You slumped a bit, a wave of relief washing through you. He was looking at you, his hand on the door. You looked at him, the creek, and then back to him before you offered,

"You need any help?" And that same grin came over his face at your offer. He braced his arm against the open doorway as he asked,

"You know how to change a hub?" And you supposed that his skepticism was warranted. He did find you on the side of the road with a car that wasn't working. Still, you gave him a smile and sassed him just the tiniest bit as you said,

"I'm sure I can figure it out." Earning a smirk and swipe of his cheek from the man. He motioned for you to get out, and said,

"Alright then. Lemme get that door for you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader gets an unsettling message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attacks, fainting spells, implied past domestic abuse, implied intent to kidnap

You figured you were slowing Lester down more than actually helping him, but he was a surprisingly patient and willing teacher. When the hubs were changed and you hopped back in the car, you were able to make it over the water with little to no problem. He drove you into the town, and stopped in front of an auto body shop. You watched as he got out, and quickly went to your side to let you out of the truck. You thanked him, before looking around the town of Ambrose. It was small, like you figured your new town would be. The only tourist trap it seemed to have was the House of Wax, but you didn't have time to look at it before Lester said,

"C'mon, Bo's probably inside." And nodded towards the auto body shop. You followed him, being able to hear music from outside the shop and passing some old fashioned gas pumps. Lester walked right in, yelling,

"Bo! You got a customer!" And you heard the sound of tools being set down before a tall man in his mid thirties stepped into the lobby of the shop. He had short dark hair, a cap, and a plain button down shirt and pants. He was wiping his hands clean of any grease, and he tossed you a smile right after he turned down the radio. Lester was quick to introduce you for you. He gave Bo your name, and the tall brunette held out one of his hands.

"I'm Bo. I'm the owner." He said, and you tried not to flush from the way he looked you over. You replied a small,

"Pleased to meet you." And you retracted your hand. You bit your lip, and Lester was quick to talk for you. You were grateful, as, for some reason, you felt slightly intimidated by the man in front of you. He seemed nice, charming, but a little sharp around the edges. But, hell, you brushed it off as plain paranoia.

"This young lady right here was having some car trouble up on the back road. I told her you'd be able to give her a tow." He said, and Bo nodded. 

"Yeah, we can manage that just fine." He said, and it seemed as thought this day was finally turning around for you. You'd have your car fixed and you'd be in your new town before nightfall. Well, you hoped. You added,

"Yeah, um, I couldn't figure it out myself, so Lester here was a real lifesaver to bring me to a, uh, professional." You said, and you watched the way the tallest of the two men smiled at you. He headed behind the counter, talking as the pair of you followed him. 

"Well, imagine that. Lester picked something up prettier than what he usually scrapes off the interstate. Should head by the back roads more often." He said, talking directly to the man besides you and cracking a small quip. You looked away and smiled to yourself. The man was handsome, and a flirt. If it wasn't for the situation, you were sure you would've walked away from someone so brazen. "Now, you headed anywhere important? Any time constraints?" He asked, throwing the rag over his shoulder. You were biting your thumb, and you pulled it out from between your teeth to say,

"I'm headed to a town about an hour out. Moving. Great day to get stuck." You said sarcastically, and both of them smiled at the joke. Bo shuffled some papers, looking down as he said,

"Yeah, it always happens like that, huh." He said, and you supposed he would know. You guessed that this was the part where you talked prices, but, after taking a quick glance at the clock, you realized just how much time had passed. Your stuff would be arriving, if it hadn't already, and you were still over an hour away. So, you said,

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be impolite, but could I use your phone? I have a moving truck that I'm supposed to meet." You were sure that if you didn't call, you'd worry the hell out of the people driving. You wanted them to know that you were safe, and maybe they could unload some of your stuff for you. You doubted they'd be so inclined, as you knew the men driving it. Bo gave you an easy smile, before agreeing with a,

"Sure." He handed you a cordless phone, and you quickly thanked him as you slung your backpack down to find the phone number to your new apartment complex. You pulled out a little planner you carried, found the number, and dialed it in. You stepped away from the two men as you waited for the person at the desk to pick up.

"This is Shandor Apartments. How can I help you?" An unfamiliar voice rang through, and you quickly said,

"Hi, this is," You gave them your full name and apartment number. "I was supposed to move in today, but I ran into some car trouble. I'll be up as soon as it's fixed, maybe in about," You paused to look over at Bo, and he held up three fingers. It was only a slight sight, but, for a moment, you saw what looked like scars on his wrist. You didn't stare, and instead took a step as you continued, "Three hours. I was wondering if you could tell me if the moving van has come yet." You said, and you waited for her reply.

"Yeah, it got here about fifteen minutes ago. You want me to tell those boys to wait with it?" And you grimaced at the thought of asking them to wait for three hours. You reluctantly said,

"No, no. Tell them they can head on back, and to just leave the keys to the unit with you please." Your 'moving van' was really just a small trailer attached to the back of a truck. You hadn't had much to take, and most of what you did had been left behind because of the memories surrounding them. Still, that didn't mean you were thrilled with the idea of moving everything by yourself. 

"Will that be all?" She asked, and you tried not to be offended by the indifference in her tone. You told her a quick,

"Yeah, that's it." And she continued with,

"Well, alright, miss. I'll tell 'em." And you half expected her to hang up. She surprised you by continuing with, "By the way, your boyfriend called and left a message." And you felt a shock go down the back of your spine. You tongue suddenly felt heavy and numb inside your mouth, and you stopped the small amount of pacing you'd been doing. You stared out the window of the auto body shop, blinking.

"What?" You asked. You hadn't meant to be so curt, but the woman didn't seem to mind. She kept going with,

"Your boyfriend, dear. He left a message and said," You listened to her pause, almost hearing the shuffle of papers. You didn't know if the room was spinning or if that was just you as she said, "He asked if you'd got in alright, and said he'll see you soon. He was such a sweet boy too. Very polite." And you almost couldn't make your mouth move. Horror had filled your veins, nearly suffocating you and tightly squeezing around your heart. Lester and Bo had been chatting behind you, whispering for what you assumed was the sake of your phone conversation, but they stopped when you leaned against the glass with a thud. Immediately your brain raced, trying to find any excuse to explain. It _couldn't_ be. You'd been quick, sneaky. You'd even traveled separately from your friends, left at different times. You tried to force your mouth to work, but no sound came out. She continued with, "Oh, this part was a little strange. He said something about a bat? You left it at your sister's house and-" She hadn't stopped talking, but you'd stopped listening. In that moment, any stream of doubt left your head. You couldn't believe it, but, now, you had to. It was him. He had found you. He knew where you were going, and he would be there soon. He even knew what apartment complex you'd be in, and you didn't doubt the desk lady would tell him whatever he asked. He was always charming like that, able to talk into getting whatever he wanted. You'd seen him do it a thousand times, and you knew it wouldn't be any use to tell her anything. To tell your friends anything. _It was too late._ When you finally managed to force out a noise, your voice was thick and wet, like the tears you were trying to suppress.

"Thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day." And you clicked the end call button before the phone slipped out of your hand. You realized you weren't breathing, but it was like your lungs were frozen. You couldn't bring yourself to take in a breath. The night, that horrible night, was too busy replaying in your head. You heard the phantom crash of a window breaking, felt your heartbeat in your ears as you hid, saw the image of a crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs. You could practically feel his grip on your arms. Your knees had been just as weak then as they were right now, except there was no one to hold you up. No one to say those horrible words in your face, the ones that had given you nightmares ever since it'd happened. _You think you can leave me? You think what she got was bad? When I'm done with you, you'll wish it was you at the bottom of the stairs._ Those last five words replayed over and over in your head like a mantra. _The bottom of the stairs, the bottom of the stairs, the bottom of the stairs._ Your mind said. You couldn't hear Bo's question. Him asking if you were alright. Instead, your mind was asking you it's very own question. _Who's the girl at the bottom of the stairs?_

You fell to the ground, just like the phone besides you, and the world went black.

***

"What the hell." Bo said, standing over your body with hands on his hips. He picked up the phone, checking it for any damage before he looked to Lester. "What did you do? You give her something?" He asked, and Lester was quick to say,

"Me? No!" He'd placed his hands on his chest, as if he'd been offended. As far as Lester was concerned, Bo and Vincent were the weird ones of the family. He didn't judge, but he definitely didn't partake. Sure, he pointed people in the right, technically wrong, direction and dumped any bodies that Vincent didn't use, but anyone that wandered in with him was usually let go. As long as they didn't poke their noses where they shouldn't or see anything they shouldn't. "I was just tellin' you that I thought we should keep her! Y'know, so she can teach Vincent. I wouldn't give her nothing. She just," He paused, giving your foot a light nudge with his boot. "Fell." You stirred, but you didn't wake, and Bo was quick to push at his chest.

"Don't do that." He snapped, before he was fixing his hat with a sigh. At least they knew you hadn't just randomly kicked it. But, they couldn't just _leave_ you in the shop and go tell Vincent about their plan. "Shit." He said, before he pushed the phone into Lesters hands. He leaned down. He picked you up, gathering you up and throwing you over his shoulder. "Let's get her back to the house." He said with a grunt, and Lester pushed open the door so he could walk through.

***

When you woke up, you blinked to try to clear your vision. You didn't know where you were, and you nearly launched yourself up before a hand caught your shoulder. It pushed you back down almost a little too easily, and you looked up to see Bo taking a seat on the corner of what you realized was a couch. You looked up at him, and then at the source of a low whistle.

"You took quite a tumble there, miss." The man said, and it took a moment for you to connect that it was Lester. You looked around, quickly taking in the sights of what looked like a living room. You guessed it must've been one of theirs, and you were leaning towards Bo at the sight of a pool-table. _He seemed the type_ , you thought. You reached up to touch your head, which swam when you tried to lift it again. Finally, you fell back against the armrest in a defeated heap.

"Where- Where am I?" You asked, and Bo chuckled before he said,

"My house. You fainted back at the shop." He explained, and you tried to think back. Before your thoughts could head anywhere, you asked,

"What happened?" And Bo chuckled. You looked up, watching as he leaned forward and said,

"Well, we were hoping you could explain that one, darlin'." He said, his voice smooth and sweet like honey. You were too dazed to really notice how he was laying the charm on extra thick, and the moment you did think about it everything came rushing back. The fear, the horror, the confusion. You must've made a face because Lester added,

"And don't say heatstroke. I've seen heatstroke, and I ain't never seen someone look like how you did." And you bit your lip. You thought for a moment, wondering if you should lie. If you _could_ lie. You weren't sure you wanted to get into it, but how else else could you explain your fainting spell? More importantly, how would you explain the worst night of your life? A night that only happened only a few short weeks before? Especially to two strangers. You looked between their imploring eyes, and let out a long sigh.

"Can I have a glass of water first, please?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR TW: character death, intent to kidnap, violence, abusive relationships, domestic physical and verbal abuse, blood mention, stalking, basically the reader has been in her own horror movie

You were at your sister's house, and you'd almost been able to relax. It had been three weeks since you'd left your ex, three weeks since you'd seen him. 

At first, he'd been heavenly. You'd cultivated your relationship, thinking that the pair of you were growing together. It wasn't until you'd been with him for a few years that you realized you hadn't. You hadn't grown together, he'd grown around _you_. He'd grown around your life like vines around a tree, taking root in your soul and wrapping tightly around your every activity. And, at first, you didn't even mind it. Your parents had passed away during your relationship and you'd only had your sister and him to keep you going. You thought he was simply keeping you upright, from falling over and being consumed by the earth. That he held you up and kept you growing. Until you found that his leaves were soaking up all your sun.

It'd been little things at first. Comments here or there. Things he would never say in front of your friends or your sister. Just things that chipped at your self esteem. Then, the comments became yelling at you until you cried. Then- You shook your head. You didn't want to think about the shiner on your cheekbone or your busted lip. You hadn't looked at a mirror in the entire week you'd been at your sister's. Usually, you'd been able to cover up the results of his anger, and you'd made sure to avoid anyone until it faded into something a little easier to explain. But a shiner right near your eye and a busted lip? One surprise visit from your sister was all it took for you to crumble, to tell her everything. You tried to explain that it wasn't his fault, that he just got angry sometimes, but she'd packed you away in her truck and had about a quarter of your things at her house the next day. 

He had called. Over, and over, and over. Your sister picked up the phone each time, and had started hanging up the second she heard his voice after only a day of his insistent calls. She helped you build yourself back up, even if you'd only break back down the next day. And she even insisted that you file a restraining order. You'd been granted a PFA, and you'd finally gotten an official restraining order earlier that week. Some of your friends still couldn't believe what they heard, and you figured not all of those ties were going to last. Especially when he was in their ear. So, you spent most of your time at your sister's house, which had grown quiet ever since he'd been given notice. No calls, no voicemails, nothing. You were almost at peace living with her.

The pair of you were sitting in her living room, eating ice-cream and watching reruns. You'd reached over to give her hand a squeeze, a silent thank you. She'd decided to stay home from work that night, simply because you weren't sure you'd be able to withstand the night by yourself. She'd understood, and she'd told you,

"They can manage without me tonight." She was a waitress at the nearby diner, one she'd been working at ever since you were teenagers. She always made the same joke. You were the one that went to college, she was the one that waited tables. That was just that. Your parents hadn't had enough money to send you both and you felt a little bad about it now, but you were sure you could make it up. Once school started again in September, you could help her pay for her house. Maybe she could take time off and take some night classes. Even if she assured you she was content with how things were every time you brought it up, you thought it could be good for her. Helping her was easier than helping yourself, after all.

When a commercial began to play, both of you groaned.

"They always pick the worst times." Your sister said as she fumbled for the remote. You leaned back, sucking on your spoon as you said,

"That's, like, the point. They wanna keep you in suspense." You said, and she rolled her eyes before she started flipping through the channels to find something to watch until the commercials were over.

"Suspense, my ass." She said, and you stifled your laugh with another bite of the frozen treat. She smiled at you, and, for the first time in a really long time, you felt safe again.

***

"I thought a beer might fit the occasion better." Bo said, and you accepted the drink all the same. He might've been right about that, and you watched as he flipped the cap off for you before handing you the drink. You took a long swig, having sat up, and wiped your mouth after you pulled the bottle away from it. You stared down at the green bottle in your hands, wondering where you should even start. _At the beginning?_ You thought. 

But where was that? Your first date? His first comment? The first time he hit you? You took another swig. You decided that that night was the only _really_ important night. But you hadn't even pried open the wound yet and it already stung. You played with the rim of the bottle opening as you began,

"I wasn't completely honest with you, Lester. I'm not just moving. I'm- I'm running away-" You stopped yourself to take another swig. It was hard to admit, but how else could you say it? You were running. To a new town, a new job. A whole new life in hopes of abandoning him with the one you'd left behind. The boys had gone quiet to let you talk, but Lester pressed on by asking,

"From what?" And you grimaced. It wasn't a what. The monster in your nightmares, the person that had plagued your young adult life. He wasn't a what, even if he acted like it sometimes. Even if it would be easier to understand him if he was a what.

"A who." You quietly corrected. You stared down at the bottle, missing the look the boys shared. "I'm running from a who. He, um," You paused, blinking quickly to push back the tears before just screwing your eyes shut altogether. The palm of your hand pressed against the bridge of your brow as the images of that night flooded back.

***

Just after that feeling began to settle, you heard a sound of a car hitting gravel. Both of your heads turned and it only took a second for both of you to realize who it was. You'd both seen the car time and time again over the years. In a second, all safety had snapped. Your sister was launching herself off the couch, heading straight for the front door and scooping the phone up on the way. She was already dialing 911, but there was a pause. His car door didn't open and his feet didn't hit the gravel. You didn't have time to figure out what had stalled him, because your sister was already talking to the cops. She was already telling them about the restraining order and that he was here, unannounced. You were frozen on the couch, and all you could do was listen. Your heart was beating out of your chest and your mind was fuzzy. _What was he doing? Why is he here?_

There were a million possibilities and then one made itself clear, one that shook you and made a cold sweat appear on the back of your neck. Your sister was supposed to work tonight. You were supposed to be alone.

When that door finally slammed, you threw the ice-cream out of your hands the second you realized. He wouldn't come through the front. He wasn't stupid. You ran to the back, locking the door just as a dark figure appeared through the blinds. A silhouette outlined by the setting sun. Your sister was grabbing you, yanking you away from it as the handle shook. He was trying to get in. You could feel tears beading at your eyes, but your sister was slapping a hand over your mouth when you heard the glass shatter and tugging you under the dining room table.

***

You didn't have the words to describe what he was. He was a lot of things, and summing him up seemed just a little too difficult in your current state. You waved a hand, waving away their hands when they reached out to touch you. You didn't need to be consoled. Well, perhaps you did, but you weren't sure you'd be able to keep your composure if you were. You didn't want to cry in front of strangers, especially ones you'd just fainted in front of. Instead, you tried to focus on telling them what you knew. You started with how you knew him.

"My ex-boyfriend. He, um, he's really-" _Psychotic. Abusive. Violent_. "Dangerous." That was the word you landed on. "I left my hometown to start over and to, well, leave him behind. But, he," You stared at your hands, before you took another swig. "He found my new apartment complex. That's why I-" You said, gesturing your hand to point out the current situation. You heard Bo suck in a breath. You looked up, seeing that he was lifting his brows and shaking his head. When you looked at Lester, he was rubbing the back of his neck. They were quiet for a moment, before Bo gave you a pat on your leg. His tone seemed to shift, a charming facade replacing it.

"Well, y'know, maybe he just wants to talk. Just wants closure. I mean, you did date him, so he can't be that bad." Bo said, and your face fell. His eyes followed the change, and his own attempt at a smile faded. You knew he couldn't have known. That he was just trying to be polite and make you feel better. You knew you shouldn't take it personally or snap at him. But, you couldn't help the coldness of your voice when you said,

"He killed my twin sister. The only closure he wants is to finish the job." And you downed the rest of the bottle.

***

You and your sister had been hiding. Under the table while he checked the living room, darting towards the living room the second he went back into the kitchen. He'd been talking the entire time. Almost as if he wanted you to know where he was,

"Yoo-hoo. I didn't expect you to be home tonight, I'll tell you that. But that's fine. I'm here to take your sister home." You'd heard him head towards the other side of the house, back towards the laundry room and the guest bathroom. "A restraining order? Now, I thought maybe she was just going to take some time to herself. Realize how much she missed me. But I got that notice and, well, I knew you'd stuck your hooks in deep." You could almost imagine him wagging his finger. He was heading towards your sister's study. "Y'know, you two might be identical, but," He paused. You could practically see him shaking his head. "I could always tell the difference. My baby she's just- She's a little softer, ain't she? And she's got that smile." He whistled. "No wonder all those kids listen to her. She could stop traffic with that smile. She's here, ain't she? Well, honey, stop hiding, okay? Just stop hiding, and we'll go home. I won't do nothing. Promise." And you could nearly hear him cross over his heart. Your sister placed a finger over her lips, and you held a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. As if she believed you might really sell them out, surrender yourselves to him. She peeked over the couch, before she was dragging you by your hand towards the central stairway. She peeked past the banister, her china closet and umbrella holder on your left. You looked around, making sure he wasn't coming back. He was being quiet now, and the silence made it so the only thing you could hear was your heartbeat thumping in your ears. You looked down. There, leaning against the china closet, was a wooden baseball bat. You wrapped your hand around it, tugging it close to you as you sister leaned close to whisper,

"We head for the attic, close the stairs, and wait for the police to come. Okay? Don't look behind you and just run." She said, and you gave her a nod. But, just as you rounded the corner and got halfway up the stairs, you heard the slap of your ex's hand against the banister.

"Gotcha." You turned, and you didn't think. You swung, surprising the man and hitting him square across the face. Right across the mouth. In all the years you'd dated, you'd never once striked him. You hit him again, the force behind the blow making him fall back and land on his back. You wanted to hit him again. Make sure he wouldn't follow you up the stairs. Make sure he wouldn't bother you ever again. A rush of adrenaline had gone through you, and you knew it would be so _easy_. One or two more purposeful swings and you'd never have to worry about him again. But your sister was yanking the bat out of your grasp and pulling you up the stairs.

He was down, but he wasn't out. The second the pair of you had gotten the stairs to the attic down, you heard the top stair behind you creak. Your sister had ushered you to go up first. To get to safety. But you turned around, seeing that, while his mouth was bleeding, he could walk fine. 

"You bitch." He cursed, taking a step towards you on the landing. Your sister swung the bat, just as you did, but the element of surprise was gone. He caught the swing, and you hadn't been able to see the look on your sister's face as he yanked her forward by it. "Fuck you." He said to her, and you screamed a cry of,

"No!" As he wrestled the bat out of her grasp and threw her down the stairs. You stared, unblinking. People fell down the stairs before and walked away completely fine. And some didn't. Your sister laid in a heap, unmoving. You'd heard the sickening crack, the sound of bone crunching. A sound that let you know that she wasn't going to get up. She wasn't going to save you this time. You'd frozen, staring at the girl at the bottom of the stairs. At the face that matched your own, but who's eyes had gone blank. He'd practically leapt towards you. His hands on your arms, his grip tight enough to crush bone. His breath was hot in your face as he spat out the words, 

"You think you can leave me? You think what she got was bad? When I'm done with you, you'll wish it was you at the bottom of the stairs." But the next sound was the sound of a siren, and you watched as your ex's head swiveled towards the door. Again, you didn't think. You threw your head forward, headbutting him hard enough to make your ears ring and to knock him back. You'd hit him right in the nose, and it was gushing blood. His grip loosened and you pushed him the rest of the way. You pushed yourself to turn around, scampering up the stairs. You yanked the stairs up just as he tried to pull himself up, and brought the string with you. You sat there, holding onto the string so tight that your knuckles had turned white. You were breathing heavily, and a sob racked through you as what just happened finally caught up to you. You laid on the floor of the basement, the smell of dust clogging your nose as you cried. For the first time in your entire life, you were completely alone.

***

"You hit him with a bat?" Bo asked, a soft chuckle of surprise leaving his lips. You'd explained what happened, how he'd broken in after hearing about the restraining order. If Bo hadn't already refilled your hand with another beer, you would probably be mortified that you were telling them this much. 

"And broke his nose." You said after taking a swig, wiping your lips with your sleeve once again. That was the only bit of satisfaction you'd gotten from the situation, even if regret outweighed it in multitudes. "I-I know it's not good to say this, but I really," You paused to take another swig. "I really wish she'd let me finish it. Then, then," The words were thick in your throat. "Then, she would've lived." You gestured with the bottle for a moment, your mouth opening as if you had more to say, before you snapped it closed. You were staring straight ahead, refusing to meet either of their gazes. Even if they seemed warmer than ever. "I should've killed that sonovabitch." You mumbled to yourself, taking another long swig until there was only about an inch left in the bottle. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "I need to- I need to call my friends. Tell them what happened." You were moving to get up, moving to stand. But Bo was placing a hand on your shoulder and saying,

"No, no. That's not a good idea, darlin'." And your gaze turned confused. His voice was as charming as ever as he said words that disturbed you to no end. "Obviously, one of them is a rat. How else would he have found you?" He asked, and you stared at him. Perhaps you were drunk, or maybe he was truly right. You looked away, considering the idea. "Or maybe one of them didn't mean to give it away. Either way," He sighed, shaking his head. "The less people know the better."

"Well, I've gotta- I've gotta head home then. He'll think I'm- I'm in my new town-" But Bo was cutting you off again.

"Listen, honey, if I was a crazy psycho like that guy," He said, making a gesture with his thumb. "The next place I'd look for you is in your hometown. Now, you were gonna have to stay the night in Ambrose anyways, right? I haven't even _started_ on your car." He pulled back, throwing up his hands. "And Ambrose isn't even on a map. _So_ , the smartest thing to do is to stay here, in this house, until you figure out your next move." And maybe you were just drunk, but Bo was making perfect sense. Still, you said,

"I couldn't- I couldn't ask that of you. I don't have money to pay rent and I don't- I probably can't even pay for my _car-_ "

"You're not asking, I'm offering." He said, poking a finger at you and then at him. "And, as for payment, I'm sure we can work something out. Now, I-" He looked up, glancing at Lester. "Wouldn't feel like a good christian if I just let you leave after hearing a story like that. You'll stay in Ambrose, and we'll look after you until you figure out what to do." And you could feel your lip trembling as you looked at the man. You launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and hugged him before you could even think twice. He seemed surprised, and he awkwardly pat your back as you whispered a mantra of,

"Thank you." Over and over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: minor cursing, paranoia/anxiety

Vincent had only seen you for a few moments. You'd been carried in by his brother, Bo. He'd placed you on the couch, and, naturally, Vincent had peaked out from upstairs to investigate. He thought that perhaps you were someone to add to their collection, or a new toy for Bo to mess with. Bo, usually, kept the pretty ones like yourself to himself. His twin was good at charm, good at smooth talking almost anyone. And he was good at not caring about whether or not they wanted to be kept. When he saw the way he'd laid your head carefully back on the pillow, a million thoughts were going through his head. 

Bo usually took any outsiders to the basement underneath the auto shop. But here you were, being gingerly placed on their living room couch. He reached for one of the knives at his hip just before Bo was heading straight for him. He relaxed his hand, letting it sink back into the hilt. Bo had explained quickly and quietly. 

They were going to keep you for _him_. Vincent had stared at him with one blue eye, gratitude and surprise filling it. Never before, not even technically with the wax figures, had they had someone who was for him. The wax town was their mothers dream. 

He'd stared at you, peeking around the corner to take in your unconscious form. You had piqued his interest completely, even if he knew your sleeping form would soon contort into horror and screaming. That the peace would leave your features the second you realized they didn't intend on letting you leave Ambrose. 

Bo had to snap in his face to make sure he was listening, make sure that he understood that you were going to be his teacher. Not one of his wax figures. He'd nodded. He wasn't stupid, but his brother seemed to forget that sometimes. Bo hadn't had time to explain much more, as you'd started to stir.

"Go on, get. Stay out of sight." Bo told him, and Vincent had reluctantly retreated out of sight and back down to the depths of his work shop. As he returned to the wax figure in the center of his room, his head was now filled with distracting noise as he tried to force himself to focus. He wanted to know more about you. You were the only new face that he would see and not become wax. He wanted to know more about you, the mysterious figure laying on their couch. 

Eventually, he found himself listening in the middle of the hallway, leaning against the wall as he heard your voice filter through the house. He listened to your story, finding that it didn't sound too different than something their victims would describe. But that one thing you'd said struck him, and he knew it probably struck his brothers just the same. _I should've killed that sonovabitch_ , you'd said. The Sinclair brothers had long ago made their peace with what happened inside of this town. Perhaps, eventually, you would be able to make peace with it too with an attitude like that. It could take awhile, but the brothers would have time. However, when you agreed to stay, a strange feeling of relief had crept into his chest and he'd finally been able to force himself back down to his workshop.

***

It didn't take long for the three of you to part ways. You'd called your apartment complex, letting the woman that worked the front desk know that someone was going to pick up your storage unit for you. When she'd asked why, you'd told her that you just didn't feel comfortable parting with it for an entire night. When she tried to insist that it'd be safe, you cut her off and told her to expect him. You didn't mean to be rude, but you hardly had the patience to argue with her knowing that your ex could be there any minute. Lester had offered to take the longer drive, as he'd said he knew where the town was anyways. So, it was up to you to show Bo where you'd left your car.

You leaned with your head against the window of the tow-truck, secretly relieved that Lester hadn't suggested you come to get the unit with him. You wouldn't be able to stomach the anxiety that trip would've induced, and it was nice to ride in a car that smelled like motor oil and grease instead of roadkill. Bo smoked, one hand resting out the window and the other on the wheel as the Louisiana heat competed with the a/c inside the tow truck. You looked over, watching as Bo brought the cigarette to his lips. He looked over at you, catching you stare and smiling to himself. You looked away, shyness and embarrassment filling you from having been caught.

"So," Bo started. He paused for a moment. "This might be a little too much to ask, and I don't mean to offend." You turned your head back to him, arching a brow to show that you were listening. "Which one of you was older?" He asked, and you stared at him in confusion for a moment before you realized what he was asking. It wasn't what you were expecting, you'd give him that. Given his flirting nature, you'd expected a much different question. Instead, you ran a hand through your hair and softly said,

"She was." You smiled to yourself for a moment, turning to look out the windshield before you added, "By ten minutes. She always used to joke about having to wait for me for everything." And Bo smiled at that as well. You watched him take another drag of the cigarette, changing his grip on the wheel, before he said,

"I'm the oldest," And you found yourself looking at him over in surprise. You didn't know he had any siblings. Well, you figured you could blame that on the fact that you'd only met him that day. "Born less than a minute before my brother, Vincent." And your eyebrows shot up. The news that he had siblings _and_ that he was a twin surprised you.

"I didn't see him back at the house." You commented, trailing off. You wondered when you'd get to meet him, and hoped he wouldn't mind your intrusion. You were going to be staying with them, after all.

"Oh, he's just shy. Stays mostly to himself." He said, and you nodded. But the news didn't stop you from biting at your lip. You didn't want to cause any waves between the brothers, especially because you were sure that Bo hadn't asked Vincent before he offered to let you stay. You bit at your thumb, and Bo looked over to arch a brow at you. You pulled it from you mouth, realizing that he must've noticed the anxious habit. His brow lift was questioning, and you could guess what he wanted to know.

"Vincent," You paused. "Vincent won't mind me staying with you, will he?" You asked, and you watched the way he broke out into a grin. He laughed to himself, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

"Is that what you're worried about? No, no. Vincent won't mind a bit. Having someone as pretty as you around the house? He won't mind at all." He said, and you had to turn away to hide the smile creeping up your face. You shook your head lightly, choosing to ignore his flirting remarks. You looked out, pointing down the road. You didn't even need to say anything, as Bo was already remarking, "I see it." And stopping in the road before making a three point turn. You were relieved from the sight of your car, and to see that it hadn't been stripped or broken into.

You'd gotten out with the intent to help Bo, but, just like Lester, you thought you were slowing him down if anything. Eventually, you just ended up sitting on the hood of your car and eating a bag of chips that you'd packed for the ride. You offered him some, and he took off his cap to wipe his brow before he took the bag. He'd hooked your car up, and now all he needed to do was lift it to tow it back to Ambrose. He chewed for a moment, before he said,

"So, Lester told me you teach sign language, right?" And you were quick to nod. That you did. You wondered where this was going, but Bo didn't keep you in suspense. He was just like Lester in the way that he wasn't one for long silences. "Well, my brother, he," He rubbed his face, as if he might not know how to put this. Or maybe he was debating how much he should tell you. "He's got a facial deformity. Wears a mask to cover it up. Bit of a freak. Might scare a little lady like yourself." He said with a laugh, looking as though he expected you to laugh with him. You didn't. You didn't like the use of that word, but you didn't say anything and waited for him to get to the point. "Anyways, he can't speak too good because of it. Since you said you wouldn't be able to pay for your car, do you think you could teach him?" He adjusted his stance, and the look he gave you already told you that he expected you to accept. Truthfully, you couldn't find a single reason as to why you'd refuse.

"Of course. I've- I've taught adults, and I'll try to teach him as much as I can before I leave. And, well, you'll probably need to take lessons too so you can understand him." And Bo nodded along with that, even if he looked away and seemed reluctant with the idea. He didn't seem like the type to particularly enjoy school, but he agreed nonetheless.

"Sure, sure. Well, we can start tomorrow if that's alright with you." And you gave him a nod. It seemed like the best idea to you too. "Alright, well, if you don't need anything else then let's go." He said, rapping his knuckles against the hood of the car and passing the bag of chips back to you. You threw it back into your car, before you were shutting the door. As the pair of you each walked to your respective sides, he asked, "You hungry?" And after you replied,

"I could eat." It didn't take long for the pair of you to decide to get something for dinner. It'd been about a fifteen minute drive, and, even if it wasn't the town you were moving into, you were still nervous about the potential idea of your ex finding you. So, you stuck to Bo like glue, practically hiding behind him every time you saw someone who looked a little too much like your ex. You'd gotten a couple of pizzas. By a couple, you meant that you'd gotten three large pies. At first, you didn't even know how the two of you were supposed to finish them until you went back to Bo's house and watched him devour over half a pizza by himself. You'd eaten two slices, and you almost thought that Bo would've finished yours as well if you hadn't been there. The pair of you had been watching TV, eating, drinking, and waiting for Lester to return. It took less than an hour for his truck to pull up, your storage unit attached to it. Lester walked inside the place like he lived there, and Bo simply said,

"There's pizza in the kitchen." Before Lester was heading that direction. He came back with two slices on a plate, and suddenly the three pies made a little bit more sense. He sat in-between you and Bo and asked,

"What're we watchin'?" Right before he stuffed his face full of a slice. After a full episode of whatever Bo put on and several slices of pizza later, you figured there had to be some sort of relation between the two of them. Their mannerisms were too similar, and they were just too comfortable with eachother not to be related. You figured they were cousins, maybe even brothers. The thought of brothers brought the mysterious Vincent back into your mind, and you wondered where the third of their little family may be. Soon, Lester was wiping his face and asking, "So, do you need help unpacking?" And you realized that you hadn't talked about your sleeping arrangements yet.

"Oh, do you have a guest bedroom?" You asked, but Bo shook his head as he pried a beer bottle from his lips.

"Nah, you'll take Vincent's room." And you were flustered by the bluntness of the statement. You quickly shook your hand out in front of you, saying,

"Oh, I couldn't." Earning a glance from the brunette. With the way he looked at you, you guessed he wasn't used to being argued with. Quickly, you explained. "I mean, won't Vincent mind?" Being in his house, taking his room. You knew you would. Bo chuckled, seeming amused by your statement.

"He won't. He barely uses it." And you bit your lip. You looked between the two of them, before giving Lester a shrug.

"Sure then." You said, and Lester took your plate to take to the kitchen after giving you a smile. You'd only needed one of your suitcases, really, but you searched for a box to carry to make yourself feel a little less bad about Lester carrying the suitcase. You heard the door open, and Bo announced that he was gonna head down to town to finish up some things. You'd watched him leave for a moment, before you went back into the unit and found the box you were looking for. 

You didn't know how long you were going to be in Ambrose, and you didn't imagine there'd be much space in Vincent's room. But, as Bo had eluded, it was practically empty. There was a dresser, a pre-made bed, a bedside table, a mirror on the wall, a rug on the floor, and that was about it. Lester had carried your suitcase for you, and you set your backpack on the bed. You looked over at him, telling him, 

"The bed is fine." And you watched as he lifted it up onto the bed. You opened the box, revealing the contents inside. It was mostly books and folders, but there were two picture frames inside. One was a family photo when you were young, one with both of your parents. The other was a more recent one of you and your sister. You didn't look at either of them long, and went to set them on the bedside table. Lester looked over your shoulder, glancing at the pictures. 

"That your sister?" He asked, and you gave him a nod as you went to unzip the suitcase. Luckily, you'd stored your unmentionables in the pocket on the top, so you didn't have to worry about Lester seeing anything you didn't want him to.

"Yeah. We were identical." You told him, and pulled out some of your shirts. You went to the dresser, pulling out a drawer. You weren't surprised when you saw it was empty, and you tucked your clothes inside. You knew Lester was just looking for a topic of conversation, but you didn't feel like lingering on your sister. So, instead, you asked, "Anything fun to do around here? The house of wax any good?" And you watched as he chuckled and nodded,

"Yeah, Vincent's hell of an artist. It was our mothers originally though," And your ears perked at his words. So, they _were_ related. He was biting at his nails, and you hummed. 

"I'll have to check it out- If that's alright with Vincent." You quickly added the last part. At this rate, you weren't sure Vincent was going to end up liking you. You didn't want to intrude any further. You turned your head for a second, hearing a creak of a floorboard. Lester, however, was quick to steal back your attention.

"Nah, Vincent won't mind." And your attention was stolen from the sound. You looked back at him, not quite sure if you wanted to take his word. You took out some of the books, placing them on top of the dresser. If not to just give yourself something to do. "That house of wax though, that was our mothers pride and joy. She had big ideas for this town." And you hummed. You bet that she did, but you guessed the same thing happened to Ambrose as every other small town. The interstate. You arranged your books on the dresser, a question burning in the back of your mind.

"Any idea when I'll meet him?" You asked, looking over your shoulder at the man. He grinned, chuckling to himself as his eyes flashed to the wall. Just for a moment, almost too quick for you to notice.

"Soon, you'll meet him soon." He'd said, and you found his words strangely cryptic. But, you resigned yourself to the fact that your first meeting probably wouldn't be until your first class. And, while you could've sworn you heard footsteps, you blamed that on your mind playing tricks on you. 

Seeing that you seemed to have everything handled, Lester excused himself. You'd invited him to the lessons before he left, and he'd accepted before he said goodnight. You'd smiled to yourself, hearing the door click as Lester shut the door behind him. You finished packing away your things, before you decided to shrug off your clothes and change into your pajamas. Even if your bedtime was far away, you thought you'd be more comfortable. You pulled your suitcase off the bed, kicking it under it before you climbed on top. It felt a little weird to be sitting on top of someone else's blanket and sheets, but you'd forgotten your set in your car. You pulled some of the folders out of the box, taking out the ones that were filled with the lesson plans for your adult class. All you really had to do was shorten the class size. You let your evening pass by as you began prepping for the next night.


	5. Chapter 5

Vincent hadn't meant to spy. He didn't know when everyone was coming back, or if any of them were currently even at the house. Sure, Lester had told him that the three of you were leaving town, but he'd been disconnected from his brothers the second you had arrived. He only wandered inside the house because he wanted to see if the three of you were even back yet, and he was surprised to hear muffled voices coming from his room.

In his surprise, he'd managed to step on one of the floorboards that always creaked. He winced to himself, even if he doubted that the pair of you heard it. He took a step forward, pushing a painting slightly aside and glancing through a hole in the wall that only he knew about. 

There, inside his old room, was Lester and you. He couldn't make much out, but he could see his bed. He saw your suitcase and the box, and it didn't take long for him to piece together what was going on. _She's staying in my room_ , he thought to himself. He knew he shouldn't have expected much else. Bo wouldn't give up his room, even if he slept in the basement under the auto-shop half the time. Lester wouldn't give up his room because, while he had a whole other place to stay, his stuff had filled it to the brim. So, it was either his room or their _parents_ room, and Vincent knew it was an obvious choice.

He didn't stay long, and, in fact, left the second his younger brother eluded to knowing that he was there. He didn't really mind that you were taking his room, as he didn't see it as much of a loss. He spent most of his time in his workshop anyways, which did have a bed already in it. The only thing he hoped was that you didn't find the supplies he'd shoved under his bed.

***

You had woken up late, and the sun was high above the horizon by the time you peeled open your eyes. You rubbed your eyes, trying to clear them of any bleariness as you reached towards the bedside table for your watch. It was early afternoon, and you groaned. Your first impulsive thought was that you were going to have to fix your sleep schedule before school started, but you stopped that thought dead in your tracks. You weren't sure where you'd be teaching this year. You couldn't teach back at home, and you'd have to tell your new town that you could no longer accept the position. At least, until your ex was apprehended. You sighed, moving to press your face flat against the pillow. 

You'd stayed up past midnight, planning and prepping for the next night. You knew that you probably didn't need to, that the boys might not have super high expectations for classes. It was more to distract you from any potential thoughts about your ex, to distract you from the creeping anxiety and potential nightmares. Thankfully, you'd fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep, one void of images of your ex or your sister. You blamed the new town, maybe even the new room. It wasn't your own, and it didn't resemble anything close to where you'd lived. The complete change in scenery probably had something to do with it. You picked at the blankets, wondering if that had anything to do with it either. Your old set had been one that had been brought with you, from the house you'd shared with your ex and your childhood home turned into your sister's home. Perhaps the bad dreams had been clinging to your sheets, like ghosts. You played with the thought, wondering if Vincent had any bad dreams attached to sheets you were under.

You shook your head. You'd been thinking about the mysterious figure far too much. You knew it was just curiosity, but you couldn't wait to meet him if not to just expel the way your mind consistently went back to him. You got out of bed, grabbing a pair of socks to wear so your feet wouldn't freeze on the wooden floor. You looked outside the window, seeing that Lesters car was gone. You guessed that Bo would be down at the auto shop, and you didn't know if Vincent even really lived in the house. So, you guessed you'd have it completely to yourself. 

You saw no reason to change, and you walked down to the first floor in just your sleep shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. You figured, worst case scenario, you'd end up having pizza for breakfast. If there was any left. You went straight to the kitchen, your footsteps silent as you approached, and you nearly jumped when you saw a figure at the sink. His back was turned to you, but you quickly guessed that this had to be Vincent.

He was as tall as Bo, if not a few inches taller. His hair was long and dark, and it looked almost as thought it had a few pieces of wax caught in it. He was wearing a sweater and overalls, despite the Louisiana weather. You couldn't imagine how he could withstand it, especially with working with hot wax all day. Eventually, you cleared your throat so you wouldn't sneak up on him.

You had leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, pressing your shoulder against it as you watched him jump. He dropped his bowl, and he was quick to turn to find the source of the noise. Like Bo had described, he was wearing a mask. You gave him a smile and a wave, knowing not to expect much of a response from him. At least, until you began to teach him some signs.

"Hi," You started, before giving him your name and walking closer. "You must be Vincent, right?" And you watched how he awkwardly swayed for a moment. He had turned so his hip was leaning against the counter, and, despite his size, he almost looked like a caged animal. Ready to run at the first sign of an opening. You walked until you were only a few steps in front of him, and you watched how he gave you a small nod. Your smile widened, and you held out your hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm excited for our first class tonight." You added, and you nearly thought he was going to leave you hanging.

After a long moment and a slightly too long of a silent pause, Vincent reached out to wrap his hand around your own. It was large and covered in wax in some spots, same as the front of his overalls. It seemed he'd just come from wherever he worked, and you supposed his hours were just as off as yours were. But, despite the spots of wax, his hands were warm and soft, and he only gave your hand a soft squeeze before he was dropping it. You tried to suppress your smile, as you guessed that Bo had been right. He really was shy, but you couldn't help but find it endearing.

"So, I'm guessing Bo and Lester went out?" You asked, and there was a shorter pause between his nod. You had moved, walked so you could stand a few steps besides him near the counter. So you felt less like you were trapping him against a wall. His gaze has followed you, and you could see a single blue eye peering out from the mask. Bo had been vague about the description of what lied underneath, but you also supposed that it was simply none of your business. Still, the way his eye stared at you, almost unblinking, realized how casually you were dressed for your first meeting. Subconsciously, you pulled up your shirt. "Do you guys happen to have anything to eat? Any coffee? I don't mean to ask for much, and I can always head to town…" You trailed off, watching as Vincent quickly sprung to action. He had to step closer, reach above you to open the cabinet and point towards the cereals on the lower shelf. He gestured to them, and you were able to guess his answer. _Help yourself._ And you watched as he turned his attention to a coffee maker. His movements were careful and deliberate, and as you looked around, you saw the kitchen was about as clean as you could expect it to be.

Vincent started a pot of coffee for you, simply because you were unfamiliar with their machine. You picked out a box of cereal, and Vincent was quick to show you where the bowls were. Despite showing you, he still reached to grab you one and then passed you a spoon. Thankfully, he didn't hover and let you pour your own cereal, and you gave him a smile and a quick thank you when he pulled out a carton of milk for you. He resumed his spot next to the coffee maker, hovering by it while you fixed your cereal. You could feel his stare glide over to you, but you kept your smile to yourself as you mixed the milk and the cereal before popping a spoonful into your mouth. It was, at least, breakfast related, so it was better than the alternative. Vincent tapped his fingers lightly against the counter as the coffee started, and you saw that his gaze flicked away from you the second you looked up at him. You did your best not to smile, and quickly had another spoonful of cereal to hide it. You saw that Vincent had pulled out two mugs, so you guessed that he was having one himself. When it was finished, he poured himself a cup and passed you the sugar. He let you fix your coffee how you liked it, and he placed the coffee pot back inside the maker to keep it warm. Once you were done, you helped him out everything back.

"So, I guess I'll see you tonight?" You asked, taking your bowl to the small table stuck just outside the kitchen. He gave you another nod, and you watched as he took his cup of coffee past the stairs. You figured his workshop was up there as you began to eat, idly thinking about what you were going to spend your time doing that day. Once you finished up, you washed both your bowl and your mug, setting them aside in the dish drainer, and went upstairs to change. It was still early afternoon, and you figured you could find Bo before you could find Lester. Luckily, your new room had a bathroom attached to it, so you didn't have to scour the place looking for a shower. 

You grabbed your toiletry bag from your back-pack, and fiddled with the shower for a moment until the water was to your liking. You took a quick shower after locking the door behind you, scrubbing off a days worth of sweat and any of the paranoia that lingered from the day before. Once you were showered, your teeth were brushed, and you were changed, you went down to find Bo. 

The walk was short and the sun was hot, the sky as clear as usual. You could already hear music playing from inside the shop, so you didn't figure Bo would be able to hear the bell of the door ring. You knocked against the open door to the garage, trying to catch Bo's attention from where he was ducked under your hood. He didn't look up, so you called,

"Bo!" And you startled him to the point where he knocked his head against the hood. You gasped, covering your mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry! You just didn't near me knock, so I-" You said, but he was taking off his cap to rub the back of his head and shouting,

"Fuck- Just turn down the music!" He cut you off with his words, and you were quick to whip around and turn it down. You heard him sigh and curse to himself, and you repeated a soft,

"I'm sorry." As you came back to the door of the garage. "I just- I just wanted to check-" But he was cutting you off again and saying,

"It's fine, it's fine. I just couldn't hear you. So, you're finally up, huh?" And you didn't know if the statement was supposed to have a bit of bite in it or if you were just imagining it. You supposed his annoyance was warranted, as he had just hit his head. Still, you bit your lip and quickly thumbed back towards the entrance.

"If you're busy, I can just- I can go explore. Walk around. Maybe pick some stuff up from the store if you need anything." But Bo was quick to say,

"No, no. I could actually use a hand here. Another set of eyes." He said, and you almost didn't note how quick he was to shut that idea down despite his previous annoyance at your arrival. Almost. You thought it was strange, and realized that this was the second time that your idea to explore the town had been shut down. Vincent's had been softer, but this one struck you. 

But he was beckoning you forward, and you were stepping closer and into the garage anyways. You didn't know nearly as much as Bo did, and it seemed more like he was trying to test your knowledge more than anything. You ended up mostly passing him tools and holding a flashlight for him, and when you asked,

"So, any idea what's wrong with it?" Bo's reply made little sense to you. 

"Could be your battery. Your spark plugs. Hell, might even be your engine. Basically, I'm surprised you made it this far with this thing." You simply nodded and tried not to grimace, and you thought you caught the edge of a smile on his face as he turned back towards the vehicle. The only thing you knew was that this was starting to sound expensive, and like it was going to take awhile. After an hour, you asked him,

"Do you mind if I use your phone again? I just wanna let my local sheriff know about what happened." And Bo seemed to hesitate for a moment before he said,

"You gonna faint again?" And you gave him a soft laugh and a shake of your head. "Alright. But remember, it's probably best not to tell anyone where you are." He said, and you gave him a dutiful nod. You pulled yourself off the stool you'd been sitting on, and went to grab his phone. You dialed the home phone number of your local sheriff, and, after telling him everything, he agreed with Bo.

"He's probably right. We don't know how he found you, but stay where you are and don't tell anyone, alright? We'll find him, don't worry." After a moment of hesitation, he asked, "You sure who you're staying with are good people?" And you were quick to say,

"Yeah, I'm sure. They've been real nice to me." You told him, and it seemed as if the sheriff had something else he wanted to say, but decided against it.

"Alright, darlin'. Stay put and stay safe, y'hear? Call back at the end of the week for an update." And you agreed before wishing him goodbye. When you plopped yourself back onto the stool Bo had pulled aside for you, he turned to give you a grin before nodding back at the flashlight. You said a quick, "Oh," And went back to shining it where Bo needed you to. You'd been there for a couple of hours when Lester came by, and you quickly found that that's what the pair of you had been waiting for.

The three of you went back up to the house, ready to start your first lesson. You went upstairs to grab your folder for the first class, finding that Bo had disappeared into one of the rooms. When he returned, he wasn't alone. You set up at the table besides the kitchen, and Bo and Lester took the seats across from you. Leaving Vincent to take the seat besides you. He seemed hesitant, but sat down nonetheless. Finally, you opened your folder to begin.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been close to two weeks, and, while you noticed some odd things about the town of Ambrose, your mind was mostly kept preoccupied. With what, you were embarrassed to say. You knew it wasn't professional, and that if you had any contact with your friends they'd definitely talk you out of it. And you definitely knew that it was too soon, and probably borderline unhealthy. Your sisters words flashed in your head, reminding you that, _you always did have the best, worst taste in men_. But, you had started to develop a crush on Vincent. 

It had started after your fourth day in Ambrose. You were desperate to find something to do that _wasn't_ helping Bo in the auto garage, and you'd woken up early enough to almost consider hitching a ride with Lester and spending the day with him. However, Lester had suggested,

"Want me to get Vincent to give you a tour of the House of Wax?" And you'd leapt on the opportunity. Lester had gone up to go get Vincent, and you hadn't thought much about the tour until the pair of you were walking down the dirt path towards the- museum? Art gallery? You weren't sure what to call it, but your distracted thoughts had lead to you almost tripping. Vincent was quick to catch you, steadying you with both of his hands. One had grabbed your shoulder while the other snatched your hand. You were flushing bright red, but, even when you were steady, Vincent seemed hesitant to let you go. As thought you might fall over your own feet the second he did. You assured him you were fine, and you gave his hand a squeeze as you did. 

Even though you'd only given them a total of three lessons, Vincent was a quick learner. It was clear that he practiced when he was by himself, teaching himself with the picture sheets you gave each of them to look over. He retracted his hand from yours as soon as you squeezed it, as if remembering that he was in fact _touching_ you. He signed a simple,

"You okay?" And you quickly said and signed,

"I'm fine. Thank you." And he nodded back. The pair of you resumed your trip, and you did best to watch where you walked. When you walked into the House of Wax, you hadn't known what to expect. You expected celebrities and some other tacky items. Instead, you looked around in awe. It was a grand house _completely_ made of wax. You reached out to touch one of the walls, feeling the smoothness underneath your fingertips.

"Is everything-" But Vincent was cutting you off with a nod. _Everything_ was made out of wax. Vincent guided you around the house, and you exclaimed and fawned over all the detail. Vincent seemed hesitant to stick around the wax figures, so you followed him farther into the house. You reached out to touch some of the food on the dining room table, looking to Vincent for permission. He nodded and gestured for you to continue, and you picked up one of the apples. It was painted red, but you could tell by the weight that it wasn't real. Underneath was his name, and you smiled as you looked at him,

"Did you do all of this?" You asked, and he signed back to you,

"Some." He said, and you nodded. You carefully placed the apple back, letting him lead you through the first floor of the house. Now, you understood why he was able to wear so many layers. The wax house was cold to keep the wax from melting, and you shivered when you passed through a particularly cold spot. Vincent was quick to take notice, and he silently offered you his jacket. You smiled and accepted it, signing,

"Thank you." And he paused for a moment, his hands twitching as he tried to remember how to respond. You quickly showed him the sign, verbalizing it by saying, "You're welcome." And he quickly copied you. You gave him a smile, and tugged his jacket on. You continued walking through the house. When you finished going through the first floor of the place, he took you back to the main lobby. You stopped at the front desk, taking a closer look at the paintings behind it. After a moment, you blinked. "Wait, did you paint these?" You asked, pointing at the picture. He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as you rounded the desk to take a closer look. There, at the bottom corner, was his name. You gawked at it for a moment, completely taken back in surprise. You had thought he'd done just the frames, and you looked around the room. You realized then that you'd been underestimating his ability. When he agreed that everything was made out of wax and done by him or his mother, he'd meant _everything_. Including the paintings, the painted on details of the chairs, the piano- You looked over at the piano, gesturing to it. "Does it work?" And he'd given you another sheepish nod. 

You let out a small noise of disbelief, walking towards it. You paused once more, letting Vincent catch up with you and give you the go ahead to touch it. When he did, you pressed on one of the keys. A sound rang out in the silent house, and you looked up at him in surprise. He stared back, and you could tell what his gaze said. _Told you so_. You were too in flabbergasted to really care if you'd been wrong, and you touched another key before you withdrew your hand completely.

"Vincent, this is-" You held your hands out in front of you, trying to find the words. "You have an insane amount of talent. This place is- It's-" You couldn't find the word to truly describe it. "It's wonderful. It's amazing. You should be really proud." You told him, and when you looked over, you realized you could see a twinge of red that had spread all the way to the tip of his ears to his neck. Even from the way he signed the words, 

"Thank you." You could tell that you had embarrassed him. You bit your lip to try to suppress your smile, before you signed and said,

"You're welcome." And, for a moment, you almost thought you heard him chuckle. After that, you went to the House of Wax with him whenever he wasn't working. He'd come out of his workshop during the day, and he'd either find you in your room or at the kitchen table. Even if you were busy, you were always willing to leave it to explore the house once more. And you didn't really even mind only being able to explore the first floor. Still, those visits were few and far between, and you'd only been to the house a total of three times over the past two weeks. The rest of the time you spent at the house, wondering if Vincent was going to appear to invite you for a visit. Perhaps _that_ was how the crush started.

All the waiting, wondering where he was. What he was doing. What he was _making_ . Wondering what else he'd have to show you the next time you two were alone. Or perhaps that you realized the scent that hung off his sheets was the same smell that had hung off his jacket. That you realized that that was just _Vincent_ . Or, perhaps, it was when you'd bump into eachother in the kitchen. He'd reach up to grab whatever you needed almost without prompting, and, by the end of the two weeks, he was able to make your coffee how you liked it. Or, maybe, it was just his hands. The last time you'd gone to the house, he'd played something for you on the piano. It was a small piece, but you'd watched the way his hands had moved slowly and purposefully over the keys. It made you pay attention to them more and more. Like when he stirred your coffee, reached for something, brushed his hair away from his face, or even when he signed. His signing gave you an excuse to stare, especially when you were in your classes. At that thought, you quickly pressed the heel of your palm to your forehead. This was _grossly_ inappropriate. He was your _student_. But, that didn't mean there wasn't a voice in the back of your mind telling you that Vincent was a grown man, and that he might even be older than you. And that these classes weren't even in a school setting.

 _Still_ , you thought to yourself. You'd made up your mind. You were going to push those thoughts from your head. Even if you still found that you were waiting for a potential invitation from the man.

But today you'd given up hope, and had gone down to visit Bo and find out about your car. Apparently, there was a lot more wrong with it than you thought. Bo always seemed to be tinkering at something new, and you once again asked to use his phone to get an update from your local sheriff. You knew it was just paranoia, but you were too nervous about using the house phone. You didn't want it to be traced back to Bo's house, for your ex to somehow find out where you slept. Bo didn't seem to mind, and, at least, this way he could get immediate updates. So far, nothing.

They'd gone through your apartment to find any trace of him, looked for him in town, and even tried to ask the front desk lady if she'd seen anything. No leads. And when you called this week? Still no signs of him in either town. The only thing you were sure about was that he definitely wasn't going to show his face in either town now.

"God, I just wish they'd find him. Then I could at least-" Bo didn't have to hear the rest to know where this was going,

"Stop worrying?" He finished, and you gave him a timid nod. You were biting your nails, and he glanced down at them. You quickly withdrew your finger from your mouth, already know what he was gonna say. The only time you were truly able to push the thought of your ex out of your mind was when you were in your lessons, not including the House of Wax. You were particularly looking forward to today's lesson, and you were already paging through one of your folders to find the practice sheets for today. However, something being placed besides it caught your eye. You looked up, finding a shining yellow wax apple next to your folder. It was carefully crafted, and even had a little leaf poking out from the stem. If it had been painted red, you were almost sure that your first thought would've been to take a bite out of it. You knew only one of the Sinclair brothers was that talented when it came to wax, and you smiled at the boy besides you.

"Is this for me?" You asked, reaching out to take it but hesitating only an inch away. Vincent gave you a nod, and a smile broke out over your face as you closed the gap and picked it up to inspect it. You wondered if Vincent was _trying_ to make it harder to squash your developing crush on him, but you quickly doubted it. It was beautiful, and you were about to say so when Bo muttered,

"Teachers pet." And earned a snicker from Lester. You quickly frowned at them, directing the first glare you'd ever given them at the short haired brunette. He seemed surprised at the look in your eyes, but he made no moves to apologize. He was an adult, so you weren't going to reprimand him like you would one of your younger students. You didn't think you'd have to. But Lester? He looked as if he wanted the earth to swallow him up as his laughter quickly died. You looked over at Vincent, and your gaze turned warm. 

"Thank you, Vincent. It's very beautiful." You said, but you didn't like how it sounded more like you were assuring him more than anything. He barely glanced at you, and was instead picking at the table. You could see that Vincent's ears were red, and you wished you'd been quicker with your compliment. You set the apple aside, pulling out the sheets you were going to use with today's lesson.

Vincent was the quickest to learn, and you guessed that's where Bo's jab had come from. Vincent was patient and careful, watching your hands with a trained eye and copying them before he was even asked. He almost always managed to learn how to do a sign first, and, if he struggled, he would practice the sign over and over until he perfected it. He even took notes, practicing sentences he wrote by signing them to apply the words to memory.

Lester was the second best out of your three students if you were ranking them. He was quick to understand signs and know how to sign, but his hands were sloppy. He did it just a little too quick, lacked just a bit of the required precision. Still, all of you could mostly understand him, so you didn't think it would be that much of an issue.

Lastly, there was Bo. Bo had the potential to be really good at it, just like his brothers. He understood signing just as well as they did, if not slightly better than Lester. He was smart, but he wasn't patient. The second he found himself stuck with signing something, he would get frustrated and quit it altogether if you let him. But you never did. Even if he proved to be a bit of a stubborn jerk sometimes.

You reached across the table with a sign. You'd showed him the sign three times now and told him what to correct, but Bo was refusing to just _listen_ to you. So, you took his hand as gently as you could, and carefully corrected his hand as you said,

"Like this." You said, and then showed the sign reflected back to him. He was staring at you, looking at where you'd touched him and then at your hand.

"Oh." He said softly, and you figured that was as about as close to a thank you as you were going to get from him. You ended up doing that more and more, as it proved to be the quickest way for Bo to learn a sign if you just showed it to him on his own hand instead of reflected back with yours. So, whenever he struggled, your fingers would be feather-light against the skin of his hand as you moved it to show the sign it was supposed to. By the next nights lesson, Bo had seemingly caught up with his brothers. 

Vincent, however, had slowed down. He had started messing up when it came to harder signs, almost as if he was unable to sign them at all. It didn't occur to you that he might be doing it on purpose, even as Lester snickered to himself every time Vincent would do it. You gave Lester a glare, before you finally reached over to help correct Vincent's hand. Your fingers were a ghost of a touch against his skin, careful and considerate as you molded it into the sign you were teaching them. You noticed another blush heading down his neck, but you blamed it on Lesters laughter. You made sure to correct both of the twins, finding that this method seemed to work with both of them. Almost a little bit _too_ well in Vincent's case, who would get the sign immediately after.

When you finally released then for the night, they all went their separate ways. You knew Vincent was going to head to what you assumed was his work room, but he seemed to be hesitating in the kitchen. As you packed up your things and went to head for the stairs, you asked,

"So, no apple today?" And you watched as a flicker of surprise filled his eye. His hands moved, as if he wanted to sign to explain but didn't know the words. If he spoke, you almost thought he'd be stuttering right about now. "I was only kidding." You quickly told him, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. You quickly retracted it, mentally berating yourself for the thoughts that immediately clouded your thoughts when you felt the muscle underneath his sweater. You _weren't_ supposed to think of him that way. You weren't supposed to be thinking of _anyone_ that way so soon after everything with your ex. You were so distracted that you almost didn't notice him sign,

"You liked it?" And you quickly nodded. How could you not? Even without your crush on him, he was a wonderful artist. You said and signed,

"I loved it." You paused for a moment, smiling at the way you saw his hands falter. You continued, signing the words even if you knew he'd be unfamiliar with some of them. "I've told you before. You're a wonderful artist." And you watched as his hands went to rub at his neck, before picking at some of the wax on the front of his overalls. He was walking you to the steps, and you didn't notice his brothers hanging behind the pair of you. He paused for a moment, moving his hands in a way that you knew meant he was trying to think of a sign. You offered him and said the sign, "You're welcome?" But he shook his head and hands. You furrowed your brows, watching him before he signed, 

"More." And it was up to you to figure out what he meant. It took you a moment, but you figured he wasn't the type to ask for more compliments. You thought he might want to hear more about what you thought, but, finally, you asked,

"Do I want more gifts?" You offered and signed, and he was quick to nod. You could feel a blush rising to your cheeks, and you readjusted the folder in your hands. You were contemplating your answer, but you thought it couldn't hurt any. Or, at least, that's what you told yourself. Finally, you said and signed, "Sure."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: smut, masturbation

Vincent kept up with his promise, and the gifts kept coming. Though, he refrained from giving you them in front of his brothers, mainly Bo. Hell, he refrained from giving them to you in _person_.

The gifts would appear at your door instead. They always arrived when Bo wasn't around and when you were in your room, waiting for you when you opened the door. You would've wondered how he always managed to find the perfect time to leave them there if you didn't already have a few ideas. You'd heard that floorboard creak enough over the past month to guess that it was Vincent, and you knew that all of the times you felt like you were being watched couldn't just be paranoia. But, you pushed the thought from your head, knowing it was just your crush on him trying to convince yourself that Vincent was as concerned with you as you were with him. It definitely didn't have anything to do with the hole in the wall you'd found.

And, even if it did, you didn't doubt his intentions. Vincent was too shy to be a peeping tom, so you knew it was probably just so he could avoid you. That thought didn't make you nearly as pleased. Still, you nearly wanted to catch him and ask Vincent to stop leaving them at the door, simply because you'd almost crushed them more times than you could count over the past two weeks. 

_Two weeks,_ you mused, looking over at your collection. Time had flown by in Ambrose. The brothers kept you preoccupied to the point where you couldn't remember the last time you'd ever met someone else in Ambrose. But, well, that was intentional. Towns talked, as Bo had told you. They didn't want some neighbor letting it slip that you were staying here, especially to a stranger. So, at the first sign of one, you were rushed up to the house and kept out of sight, told to stay in your room. You'd agreed, your anxiety betraying your better judgement. Plus, there was only one person in the whole town that you wished you saw more of. 

Vincent didn't give you one every day, rather one every other or every three days. They were small, smaller than the bigger items you saw him do at the House of Wax, but just as intricate and detailed. You bit your lip, scratching your bare leg as you shuffled the papers on your bed. You were itching to go to the House of Wax, just for some entertainment. To see the new piece that Vincent had made. But, as Bo had told you, Vincent was busy. He was working on a big project, one that he'd only left to come to your lessons. You'd smiled at that thought, biting your thumb. There was only one time that Vincent had missed, but that'd been a night that all the boys had missed. It'd been the first time a stranger had come to town, and you hadn't seen any of them until the next night.

Bo had a busted eye, one that he'd blamed in getting at the auto shop by accidentally hitting himself in the face with a wrench. You'd fretted over him, no matter how much he tried to shoo you away. Despite his protests, you ended up wrapping a couple ice cubes in a cloth and held it out for him to take. He grumbled as he accepted it, pressing it to his eye to help the swelling. You were just about to ask Bo about what _really_ happened when Vincent came through the door. He was late, which was unusual for him when it came to your lessons, but he looked fine. You almost weren't going to say anything until he sighed and moved in an awkward way when he went to sit besides you. You gave him a confused stare, eyes flashing down to where his hand had gone to his side. Before Bo could distract you, you stared at the long-haired brunette and asked,

"Vincent, what happened to your side?" And Vincent looked startled that you had even noticed. Really, part of you was pleased that you were able to read his body language so well. And, when he signed,

"Nothing." You were even more pleased with yourself to know that he was lying. Your stare didn't leave him. You weren't going to ask again, and when you turned to look back to your papers, he sighed again and tapped your shoulder. "I fell. That's it." And you stared at him for a moment. At the blue eye peering out of his mask. You knew he was lying. You'd never seen him so much as trip before, and all you replied was,

"Bo's eye, your side. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you two got into a fight." You said, sorting through your papers to find the sheets you were going to work on that night. You didn't see it, but all three of the brothers looked relieved that that's what you had assumed. You figured that they were adults, they could figure out their issues themselves, but you didn't like the resort to violence. It reminded you just a tad too much of _other_ things. After a moment, Bo sighed and fixed his cap.

"Ah, shit. Fine, we- We were installing something new at the House of Wax, something Vincent didn't want to tell you about yet. We messed up while carrying it and I hit myself in the face and Vincent took a hit to the ribs." And your eyebrows furrowed. You looked to Vincent to see him nod in agreement, staring at you. Now, this? This was something you could believe. Bo was like a bull in a china stop. You could imagine the sight, of Bo losing his grip and end up making both of them pay the price. Of course, Vincent would take a hit like that if it meant saving the piece. You tried to hide your smile, but you quickly failed and shook your head.

"Jeez. Next time just tell me, okay? Here I was, worried the pair of you were having problems." You said, and a collective silent tension seemed to leave all three of the brothers.

But that night had flown by with the rest, and you were sitting in your bed trying to plan tomorrow's lesson. Keyword, trying. Your mind was a buzz with other thoughts. Less school related thoughts. You had to admit, Vincent was a good distraction. Such a good one that you didn't spend your nights trying to avoid thoughts of him anymore, but rather the tall, long-haired brunette you saw everyday. Even though a month had past and he still hadn't been found, you weren't half as worried as you had been before. 

You sighed, looking over at the alarm clock that Bo had gotten to your room. It was late, and you were sure all of the boys were asleep. Or, if they weren't, that they'd be in their respective workshops and wouldn't come by to bother you. You were sure that you could take a little time to yourself to have some _you_ time. A second shower would make it too obvious, so you simply set your folders aside and laid back on your bed to get comfortable. 

You weren't going to tease yourself, and you didn't hesitate to push your hand down into your sleep shorts and past the waistline of your panties. Your mind was quick to drift towards images that you'd mostly kept at bay, and your hips had tilted up when you thought about Vincent walking inside. His longer, thicker fingers replacing your own. Them slipping inside you. Something _else_ slipping inside you. You let out a gasp of something far too close to a name, Vincents name.

***

Vincent was in his workshop, and he was beyond pent up. He was supposed to be finishing his latest project, and he paused to run a hand through his hair. His mind was elsewhere, and he couldn't seem to focus. And he knew the reason. 

He wasn't Bo. He didn't go out much or even try with women. The full extent of a naked woman's body that he saw was the ones of his victims. So, how the hell did he think he could ask you out?

He wanted to be able to hold your hand, kiss your cheek. He wanted you to give him small smiles, lie with him in bed. He had thought about holding you on more than one occasion. And, usually, that's where his thoughts changed. 

If the flush on his skin was from the heat of the room or what he'd just imagined. He was supposed to be sculpting a dresser for the upstairs bedroom of the House of Wax, _not_ fantasizing. Mainly because _Bo_ had made up that excuse and now he needed to craft something _big_ . But he couldn't bring himself to think about a _dresser_. Especially when it was basically finished. Especially when there was an uncomfortable tent in his pants and the images of you unravelling in his mind.

So, he snatched his notebook off the worktable, grabbing one of his pencils and quickly began to draw the images of you that he'd stored in the back of his mind. He had plenty of little drawings of you that he'd done over the past month, but nothing like this. Even if he _could_ use his imagination to draw similar pieces as the ones he was now, the thought that you wouldn't want him had always clouded any attempts. With the strokes of his pencil, he was able to capture the images trapped in his mind, and, with the image displayed in front of him once more, he finally reached to push his overalls off his chest and down his hips. 

Even with his hand around his cock, Vincent didn't stop drawing. He let his imagination run wild. You on your front, fisting the sheets and mouth open in pleasure. You on your back, gripping the pillow above your head and arching your back. You on your knees, your side, whatever he could think of he was drawing it. He flipped between the images when he was close, trying to imagine how you'd sound as he pushed himself closer and closer to the edge. But all it really took was a replay of you saying his name for him to come, splattering his release all over his favorite drawing. After he came back down, he muttered a curse before he was trying to wipe it clean.

**

When you went down for breakfast and coffee that morning and you saw Vincent was there, you nearly cursed to yourself. But, you thought trying to avoid him and getting caught would be even more embarrassment on your part, so you pushed yourself forward. Like you suspected, Vincent whipped around at the sound of footsteps, and you thought you saw a redness dust his ears when he turned away. 

Your usual routine was always fairly quiet, but it had settled completely into silence. You grabbed your spoon for your cereal while Vincent grabbed your bowl. He put it down on the counter, barely looking at you as you went to pour your cereal and busied himself by grabbing the milk. He handed your coffee to you a few minutes later, pre-made. When you took a sip, it was just how you liked it. You watched him as he made his own cup of coffee, and you tried to think of what you were going to say to him.

You'd never been awkward around him before, but you were nearly mortified. It'd been a fun idea, one to help further you along, but now you didn't know what to say to him. So, you ate another spoonful of cereal to stop any of the embarrassing words coming to your head. But, you couldn't tolerate the silence either and you didn't want him to walk away, noting that he was almost done. So, you finally asked,

"Sleep well?" As he finished making his own coffee. He looked up, seeming almost a little surprised by the sound of your voice. He nodded, refusing to move away from where he was pressed against the counter and not casting you a glance. Finally, he signed back,

"You?" And, even if the conversation was awkward, you were relieved. Relieved that he was talking to you. Vincent had that sort of effect on you. You set your bowl down, saying and signing,

"It was okay. Had trouble getting to sleep." You said. He nodded, before he replied a short, 

"Same." And you were content to act as if you hadn't masturbated to the thought of him just the night before. The pair of you chatted until you were finished with your bowl of cereal, Vincent lingering by the counter. You set your bowl in the sink, moving to tie your hair back before you went to wash the dish. When you looked at Vincent, you bit your lip before offering him one of the ones on your wrist.

"Hair-tie?" You offered, and he stared for a moment. "Just- So, your hair doesn't get in the way while you work." You said, reaching up to pick a piece of wax from his hair. He stilled, but he didn't push your hand away. And when you showed the piece to him, he took the hair-tie to place around his wrist.

"Thank you." He signed, and you signed back a quick reply. He still hadn't moved away from the counter, and you thought this was going to be your last opportunity of the day. Even if you usually waited to be invited, that didn't stop you from wanting to spend time with him. And, well, there were only so many things to do in this town.

"Do you wanna hang out today? Go to the House of Wax?" You said and signed. It'd been a few days since Vincent had installed the new piece Bo had told you about, and you still hadn't gone to see it. Vincent seemed a little surprised by the suggestion, but he nodded nonetheless. "Alright, I'm gonna take a shower, okay?" You said, a smile on your face as you went to go upstairs. 

You didn't know much of what to expect. Would this be a date? Had all your visits been dates? Or did you just have a crush and were you thinking far too much into this? You knew, somewhere back in the rational part of your brain, that this wasn't a good idea. You probably weren't anywhere near ready. But, that voice could barely be heard over the sound of the showerhead, which you'd quickly realized was removable. 

You left your room, in a new change of clothes that you'd spent too much time picking out and already having pulled your sneakers on when you saw that Vincent had seemingly had the same idea. He'd had to use the main bathroom, the one that wasn't attached to any other room. The one that didn't have a working fan, so the boys would open the door as soon as they were changed to prevent any mold growth. And you'd come out just in time to watch him tug his sweater back on, your eyes catching sight of a flash of skin. Even though most of you was still wet, your mouth had gone impossibly dry. It just wasn't _fair_. His back was toned and muscular, your eyes catching what looked like a few random scars before the sweater he wore swallowed all of it. You hadn't even noticed that he'd been in the middle of fixing his mask. When he'd turned around, you'd been too focused on the hand reaching under to scratch his stomach. Your eyes catching sight of the happy trail hidden by the waistband of his jeans. You quickly averted your eyes, jutting a thumb towards the stairs. 

"You ready?" You signed and said, and Vincent replied,

"One second." Before he picked up the towel to at least semi-dry his hair. You leaned against the wall, watching as he brushed it before you saw him tie it back with the hair-tie you'd given him. He tied it back into a bun, and you swore that it shouldn't have affected you as much as it did. "Ready." He signed, and you swore that Vincent was going to be the death of you.

You'd brought Vincent's jacket with you. He'd let you keep it after you forgot to bring one three times in a row, and you had to roll the sleeves up in order to use your hands. The pair of you went down to the House of Wax, and you took your time exploring even if you'd seen most of it before. You looked around, before you said and signed,

"I'm sorry. Where's the new piece? I really can't spot it." You didn't see anything new, especially something that would cause as much damage as it did when they'd brought it over. Vincent rubbed the back of his neck, his hands hesitant before he signed,

"Upstairs." And you were slightly relieved to know that you hadn't just missed it. But, you bit your lip the next moment. You'd never seen the upstairs, but you didn't want to ask. You ghosted your hand over the counter of the wax kitchen, glancing over at the brunette. He was standing in front of something, in the usual spot he stood everytime you came. He seemed to be hesitating, but he finally asked, "Do you want to," and he finished his sentence by pointing upstairs. It was an innocent suggestion, you knew. Even if the words he used didn't make it seem as such. You gave him a nod, trying to suppress any tinting to your cheeks as he led you back through the house. 

He took you all the way to the stairs, and reached to undo the velvet rope. He motioned for you to go, before he was closing it behind him. He let you admire the detail work on the stairs, hovering close as you took your time. You looked around, noting the windows before you paused at the first landing to admire all the statues and pictures. The new pieces of art that you'd never gotten to see before. You grinned to yourself, and Vincent pointed back towards the stairs. You followed him further, finding that it lead you back into a bedroom. Instinctively, you walked forward and touched the bed. _Wax_. You shook your head. This house was truly amazing. You looked over, seeing a cradle, but Vincent was gathering your attention towards the new dresser. You walked over, giving him a smile as you reached out. By now, you knew that Vincent would pretty much let you touch anything. You gave a gentle pull, and the drawer tugged open. You shook your head with a small laugh, squatting down to check the handiwork as you pulled it open further. Nothing was inside, but it was amazing that it worked. You grinned up at him before you closed the drawer and stood up.

"You already know what I'm going to say." You started, watching the way he adjusted his stance, playing with the hem of his sweater. "This is amazing, Vincent. Truly amazing. This whole house," You said, looking towards the side windows. You reached out gently to touch, finding that they were wax too. You should've known. "Is just amazing." You said, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. To slide your hand in with his. The second you did, your cheeks flushed. He was staring at you, an emotion you couldn't describe reflecting back at you in his eye. You wanted to say something else, something you hadn't already said to him before. Something to make the moment even better. But, all you could say was, "You're amazing." It was a soft whisper, words that were barely there. You had taken his hand in both of yours. You thought that if there was any time that either of you were going to make a move, it should be now.


	8. Chapter 8

Vincent stared at you. He'd expected today to go entirely differently. For you to avoid him, be disgusted with him. To know what he'd done and hate him for it. But you weren't and you didn't. The pair of you had talked and you'd even invited him to spend time with you. He'd thought you'd hesitate at the idea of going upstairs, that you'd think he had bad intentions. But you didn't, and you'd examined and fawned over his work the entire way. Now, the pair of you stood in the bedroom. 

He'd finished the dresser and taken it upstairs by himself last night after his- He didn't know what to call it. But he'd done it so the next time you came to the house of wax, he wouldn't be lying to you when he said he installed a new piece. You'd loved it, like usual, and Vincent had tried to keep his thoughts from going elsewhere when you squatted down to get a better look. You made it hard for him.

He knew that you would never like him like that. So, he pushed the thought away, up until you took his hand. Slid it into his. He'd only touched you a few times, once when he caught you and then whenever you corrected his fingers during your lessons. But those touches were always brief, feather-light. This touch was bold, and made even more sure when you continued and took it with your other hand as well. 

Vincent was melting. He was trying to listen to your words, but he couldn't do that without becoming embarrassed either. You were standing so close, and moving even closer. Nearly pressing him back against the wall. You gave his hands a squeeze, running your thumb over the expanse of his skin. He wet his lips behind his mask, knowing what he wanted to do. But what he wanted and what he could do were two very different things.

He couldn't take off his mask. Not when he looked like this and you looked like that. Not when you'd never even seen it before. Even if you did like him, he was sure the sight would scare you away. He didn't want to ruin the moment, so he lifted his hand to brush it against your face instead.

***

"Vincent?" And Vincent yanked himself away. It was Bo, yelling into the open House of Wax. He hadn't even made contact with your face before Vincent ripped the door open, tearing himself away from you and going to see what his brother wanted. You stood there for a moment, staring after him. _Had he_ …He didn't. He couldn't have. He had. 

He'd left you hanging, and you stood in the bedroom before you let out a small disbelieving huff.

You followed him back towards the main room, finding that Vincent had gone all the way downstairs. You'd only caught the tail-end of their conversation, but it seemed like Bo wasn't pleased as he said,

"-Over here. Why are you flashing signs so fast?" And you made your presence known by clearing your throat. You waved down at the brothers, and you watched as Bo reached up to fix his hat. "Oh, hey there. You two," Bo paused to point at his brother. "You two having fun up there?" Bo said, a smile creeping into his voice. You gave him a look, before you rolled your eyes. _Not quite._ You thought. You made your way down the steps, putting a hand on Vincents arm as you passed him to stand besides them.

"He was just showing me the dresser." You said with a shrug. Really, there was nothing else to tell. _Unfortunately_. You were trying not to be bitter, you really were.

"The dresser, yeah." Bo said. He had a smirk on his face, and he was obviously unconvinced. But, he glanced out towards the back door before he was looking over at Vincent. "Well, did Vincent show you his workshop?" Bo suggested, and Vincent seemed startled for a moment. You lifted your brows, looking over at the long-haired twin. You'd always thought the workshop was off limits, just like the second floor. "Well, Vincent, why don't you go do that while I take care of a customer. Stranger." He said, looking at you as he said the word. Immediately, you could feel your heart rate jump. But Vincent didn't make a move even as Bo went to leave the house of wax. Bo called over his shoulder, making sure to emphasize the words. "I'll be at the auto shop, and then the house." And you decided that Bo couldn't have made it more obvious what he thought Vincent's intentions were. You looked up at Vincent as Bo left, and said,

"You don't have to show me if you don't want to." But, it seemed that Vincent eventually decided that he should. He took you down into his workshop through the kitchen, and you made a surprised sound when you saw the faces decorating the hallway walls. He turned around to look at you, and you said and signed, "Scared me." And you could hear a small laugh come from him. He took you down into the depths underneath the House of Wax. It was bigger than you thought it would be, with parts of the room illuminated by the yellow-ish glow of firelight. You looked around, but you didn't reach out to poke the contraption you saw. It looked like a chair, but with all the different nozzles surrounding it you had no idea what it would do. When you sighed and asked him, he told you,

"For work." And you gave him a nod. You didn't know enough about the process to argue with him. Instead, you noted a corner desk that you'd almost past, and you smiled. You imagined Vincent sitting there day after day, drawing and figuring out what he wanted to do. You noted the cauldron, and you were going to ask about it until Vincent motioned for you to follow him. You did, following him further into the room. Alright, it was a lot bigger than you thought it was. You went down a long hallway towards a room with another work table. You saw his bed and Jonesy, figuring that this must've been where Vincent had moved, before you noted what seemed to be a rack of all his clothes. That confirmed it.

You were going to say something about that too, until you noticed all the knives on the wall. The sight surprised you, especially because some of them didn't seem like sculpting knives. You pointed at them before you asked,

"For work?" And Vincent gave you a simple nod. It made you feel a bit better, but you couldn't stop your eyes from lingering on them. Vincent went to greet Jonesy, and you hesitated near his rack of clothes. You knew what Bo probably expected you two to do down here. Hell, you wanted to. But the pair of you hadn't even kissed yet and the first time you'd been close he'd- You pushed the thought from your brain. It was fine if Vincent didn't like you the same way you liked him. 

It was something you were starting to consider more and more. You worried your lip, already doubting what you knew and just reaching for the first thing your hand touched. It was a sketchbook, one that was already open that he'd left out. You looked at the page, seeing a detailed drawing of yourself. It was of your face, smiling the way you did whenever Vincent made your heart flutter. You stared down at the page, the same smile reflecting into your face as you looked over at the masked man. Just in time to see him notice what you'd been looking at. He paused, froze in his tracks. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, before he was moving closer to grab the notebook. Before he could shut it away and tuck it somewhere private, you asked,

"What's this?" You said and signed, watching as he grabbed it and tucked it under his arm. Away from prying eyes. He was walking towards his bed and you followed him, watching as he tucked it under his mattress before sitting on it. You tried to stop your smile, but it seemed he was going through great lengths to make sure you didn't see any of the other drawings. You didn't press, as you assumed he was used to Bo and Lester. Instead, you signed and said, "Can I sit?" And he nodded. You had a smile on your face, and you could've sworn that Vincent looked more embarrassed than you'd ever seen him. He paused, looking away from you, before he slowly signed,

"I," He paused, looking as if he was choosing his words carefully. As if he truly didn't know what to say. When he finally did say something, you hadn't expected it to be, "I think you're beautiful." And you could already feel the heat in your cheeks. You smiled, quickly trying to hide it as you rubbed at the warmth underneath your skin. Even if you were sure Vincent had never meant to flirt with a girl in his entire life, he sure knew how to make you feel special. It was one hell of an explanation for the picture, either way. 

He tapped your shoulder. Apparently, he wasn't done. You could see that his demeanor had changed, had almost taken a sad and serious tone.

"And I'm not." He said, and your smile was quick to fall. You reached for his hand, holding it tightly as you said,

"But you are." And Vincent was shaking his head the second the words left your mouth. You frowned. You were gentle as you cupped the cheek of his wax mask, turning him to face you. Turning his eye to you. "Vincent, I think you're beautiful. You're talented, smart," He had tried to duck away, but you were pulling his face back to yours. "When I say that I think you're amazing, I mean it." You whispered, and there it was again. It was a pause, a silence. A moment where you waited for Vincent to make a move. But, when he hesitated, you pushed those thoughts away. It seemed it would be up to you.

You leaned in, pausing for a moment to let Vincent pull away if he wanted, before you pressed a kiss to the wax lips of his mask. It was just for a second, for the gesture more than anything. To show that you were willing to kiss him, willing to be with him. You saw him gulp, and you tried to stop the smile forming on your lips. After a moment, he took away his hand to sign,

"Close your eyes." And you didn't think before you obeyed. You didn't hear anything except the shuffling of sheets, before you felt Vincent's hand gently cover your eyes as well. His other hand cupped your neck, and then you felt the brush of his lips against yours. You leaned in, chasing his kiss and pressing your lips more firmly against his. Vincent was quick to hand over any lead that he had as you slowly guided him. His kiss was clumsy, inexperienced. To the point where it made you giggle, but you guessed it was his first. You were softly sucking on his bottom lip. He let out a soft moan, a moan that was barely there, before you were reaching up to slide your hands into his dark tresses of hair. You massaged his scalp as you kissed, pulling soft noises from him every time you scraped your nails against his scalp. 

His hand fell from your neck to go to your side, cupping it as you tried to pull him closer. You were ecstatic. You were kissing Vincent. Actually, _kissing_ him. A month worth of pining, and you'd finally made a move. One that he had quickly accepted. The pair of you kissed until your lips felt raw and red, with each brush sending a tingle down your spine that made you clench your thighs together. You wanted more. You'd genttly licked the seam of his mouth, encouraging him to part his lips. When he did, it was your tongue that found his. You explored his mouth gently, sliding your tongue against his. The slide had him making a noise almost akin to a whine, and Vincent leaned forward to, surprisingly, search for more. It was clear that he didn't know if he wanted to push you back on the bed or pull you onto his lap, so you chose for him. 

You climbed into his lap, his hands helping you settle your legs around each of his hips. You hugged him, pressing your lower halves together in a way that practically made you keen from the friction. But, you stopped yourself. You didn't want to push him too far, and your lips simply stayed on his. Vincent had eventually let the hand around your eyes fall, trusting that you would keep your eyes closed. You kissed him with an only slightly restrained amount of fervor, cupping his left side of his face and the right side of his neck as you kissed him further. You pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips before you moved down to mouth at his jaw, press open mouthed kisses to his neck. Vincent was gripping your hip tightly, his breathing labored and practically panting as you gently sucked against the spot under his ear. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make him let his head fall back. You could feel his hips twitch under you, and you considered pushing this further. Pushing towards what you'd wanted for weeks. Instead, you pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw before you told him,

"I like you, Vincent, and I think you're beautiful." And earned a stuttering breath from him. You didn't have to look at his face to know he was blushing. You could feel the heat radiating off his face. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your face into his neck, hugging him. He was slow to wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer and letting his chin fall onto your shoulder. His breathing evened, calmed, as you hugged him and combed your hands into the bun you'd loosened at the back of his head. 

It took a moment for the two of you to pull apart, and you'd closed and covered your eyes for Vincent's sake. You left his lap, but caught him before he could get up. You didn't want to head back up yet, abandon the moment and what had happened down below. Instead, you asked him, 

"Can we stay here for a bit? Maybe you could draw me?" And Vincent didn't hesitate before he nodded.

The pair of you ended up curled on his bed, his drawing discarded. He'd drawn your face, and you'd bothered him with questions. You'd made jokes to make him smile, trying to steal his focus. You'd commented,

"This entire workshop is a fire hazard." And Vincent had to set the pencil aside to reply. You could practically see the grin behind his mask as he said,

"I like candles." And you smiled back. You knew he was being funny, stating the obvious. While his humor was dry, he wasn't as stony and humorless as one might think.

"No shit." You replied, and heet out a laugh. He hardly heard you curse, and he shook his head a bit as he picked his pencil back up and went to drawing. You continued to distract him, and eventually asked, "Had you ever kissed anyone before?" The silent end of your sentence still rang clear. _Before me?_ Vincent shook his head, his eye still down turned towards the developing sketch on his page. 

But, eventually, you'd grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the head of the bed, wanting him to lay with you. It was obvious he'd never done it before, but you persuaded him with the promise of more kisses. You closed your eyes once more, waiting for him as you laid your head back on his pillow. You felt his hand on your cheek, and then the warm press of his lips against yours. You smiled against his lips, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. 

He was leaning over you, supporting himself with one arm while the other held your cheek. You kept the kiss slow and deep. Even if Vincent was inexperienced, he was eager and willing to follow your lead. Even if you did find him trying to direct the kiss further. It made you smile when he started to become more confident, his hand moving to hold your side. To tease the hem of your shirt.

"Touch me." The whisper was breathless as you melded your mouth back to his, but he was quick to listen. His hand slid under your shirt, taking his time to explore the expanse of skin before it was heading north. He kneaded the flesh of your breast through your bra, his ministrations light but greedy. You let out a pleased noise when his fingers found your clothed nipple, and the noise made him press flush against you and continue his action. He squeezed and gently pinched, trying to elicit more sound from you. He was fanning the growing heat in your stomach, melting down whatever walls you'd had. 

As you kissed Vincent, thought about Vincent, you couldn't help but compare it to your ex. You hadn't meant to, but the thought had popped in your mind. Your ex had grown around you, building up walls and barriers for you. Acting as one himself to everyone you could possibly want to interact with. He grew around you until he'd tightened around you. Suffocating you.

But Vincent? He lit you up like a flame. He kept you happy, kept you glowing. But he gave you the space you needed in order not to get himself burned, and he let you breathe. And, to you, he was like one of his wax figures. Strong, sturdy, beautiful. You hoped you did the same, made him feel as good as he made you feel. You hoped that your admiration and care would be enough for him.

Vincent earned a moan from you when he pushed his hand under your shirt, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You felt oversensitive and far too hot. Perhaps it was from all the time you'd waited. All the time you wanted him. You were practically panting into his mouth and he hadn't even touched you down _there_ yet.

You nipped at his lips, but Vincent was pulling away. He mimicked your previous action, mouthing and sucking at your neck. It made your growing need even worse, and it didn't help when he moved and stuck his thigh in-between your legs. You knew it was unintentional, but you couldn't help yourself. You were about to ask, figuring there was no time to learn what thigh riding was like the present, until you heard the clatter of a door above and the sound of stumbling footsteps. 

It seemed his room was somewhere just below the house, and that it was close enough that you could hear everything. At first, neither of you thought anything of it, planning on ignoring it and keeping yourselves quiet, until you heard what sounded like pained sounds coming from Bo.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of past abuse, verbal abuse, gaslighting, mind games, blood/violence description and mention, vomit, mention of murder

Vincent had pulled himself away from you just like before, but this time you couldn't find it in you to be bitter. Bo sounded like he was in pain, like he was hurt. You'd closed your eyes the second he'd pulled away from your neck, and you tugged your shirt back down. You sat up when Vincent reached for your wrist, silently telling you that it was fine to look. He had his mask on, and he went to stand. You followed him up, and the two of you jogged to see what was wrong. As you approached the house, you came to a trapdoor. It wasn't what you were expecting, but Vincent turned and looked as if he was contemplating something. Finally, he signed, 

"Go to your room, okay? I'll get you." And you gave him a confused stare. He didn't give you any time to argue before he was throwing open the hatch, and leading you up into the room you thought was Vincent's workshop. 

***

Vincent always worried about his brother. Even though he knew Bo wouldn't let him take care of him, he still tried. Bo thought he had to do it all. Take everything on by himself. And then he bitched when it didn't go his way. But, more than anything, Vincent knew Bo just wanted to protect him. 

So, when he heard the pained noises from his brother, he knew he wouldn't ask for help. Even if he was bleeding out in the kitchen, he wouldn't call for him. Vincent had to go up there and check for himself. And while he was _definitely_ enjoying himself with you, he needed to make sure Bo was okay. Especially since this could be more than just something that happened while he was fixing cars. He remembered what Bo had said. There was a stranger in their town, so, more than likely, it wasn't a case of he busted himself in the face.

Vincent had sent you upstairs, but Bo immediately called both of your names. He called you back down there, and Vincent went in there to give him a questioning look and to sign,

"What are you doing?" And that's when Vincent saw it. The blood. Bo had been stabbed with a knife, Vincent could tell that by the bloody one on the kitchen counter. Bo had already cauterized the wound, and he'd taken his outer-shirt off to bandage it. He tried to get close, but Bo waved him off. Bo replied,

"No! Don't fucking- I'm not- I just gotta- I gotta ask her something." He said, and Vincent turned when he heard your footsteps stop.

***

"Oh my god." You said, staring at where Bo was bleeding. You saw the knife on the countertop, the poker that Bo had grabbed from the fireplace. You looked to Vincent, walking towards the twins slowly until Vincent pulled you under his arm. "What happened?" You asked, reaching out. Bo grabbed your hand before you could, holding it tight. The second he did, Vincent grabbed his wrist. They exchanged a look, and Bo let go. He laughed a humorless laugh, shaking his head as he did so.

"What does it look like?" Bo asked, gesturing with his good side towards the knife and the wound. You opened your mouth, but you couldn't say a word. The blood. You closed your eyes, ripping your face away from the sight as images started to flash back. It didn't help when Bo asked,

"Your ex. He about yay big, hair like-" You watched Bo lean over, spewing chunks into the sink. He spit, wiping his mouth and continued his description. You stared at him, wincing at the sight of vomit before you gave him a slight nod. Fear had ran down your spine as you looked at the bloody cloth Bo had wrapped around his chest. _It couldn't be_. But who else would do this? He'd already killed one person, you wouldn't be surprised if he'd tried again. "Well, he saw your car in the garage and then he-" Bo gestured to his chest. You could guess the rest.

***

Whatever you guessed, that wasn't what happened. Bo had met the stranger and left him at the shop to tell the pair of you what he'd told you earlier. Just to give Vincent a heads up. Originally, he'd wanted Vincent to deal with him, but seeing that he'd been a little _preoccupied_ , Bo had decided to take this one.

Apparently, he'd had plenty of time to explore his shop, and enough to find the thing that was once called your car. Bo had invented plenty of problems with it, when, really, the thing had only needed some transmission fluid and maybe an oil change. But, Bo had invented plenty of problems with your vehicle. Some of them he'd done the groundwork for himself. It wasn't like you were leaving anytime soon anyways, with how enamored you were over his baby brother. Bo just wanted to make sure. 

The brunette had seen the man poking around his workshop, looking in the windows of your car when he returned. Bo had asked him about it, and he'd gotten a friendly, nonchalant reply. Something about being a sucker for cars like yours. Bo hadn't been convinced, but all he had done was turned to grab a cloth to wipe his hands and he'd received a punch across the jaw. Bo had headbutted him and knocked him back, but your ex was a fighter. A killer. Just like him and Vincent. He'd ended up with a knife in the shoulder and when your ex didn't go to yank it out, Bo laid down and reserved his strength. He wasn't going to beat your ex wounded. Not without bleeding out afterwards anyways. So, he'd abandoned the man he now knew to be your ex to walk around the town, with a head wound he'd landed during their little scrap. It was sure to leave him disoriented, Bo knew that at least.

Part of him wanted to just grab Vincent and go kill the bastard, but he knew that Vincent wouldn't just _leave_ you. So, Bo had to be smart about this.

***

"Holy shit." You said, and you gripped Vincent's side. This was it. The day you'd been dreading. The day you'd almost hoped would never happen. He was here. He was in Ambrose. You felt almost like you were going to faint, and you were gripping Vincent's sweater so hard that your knuckles were about to turn white. 

Five minutes ago you'd been fine. You'd been laying in bed with Vincent, finally getting to do something. Getting to touch him, to play with his hair. To feel his lips against yours. Now, he was the only thing keeping you upright when your legs gave out. He grabbed you, wrapping his arms around you and keeping you up. You had tears already pooling in your eyes, and you hadn't realized that you'd started taking shorter, shallower breaths.

"Hey, hey, breathe!" Bo said, and Vincent was holding onto you. Keeping you upright. He held you up, holding your arm and motioning with his hand for you to look at him. He signed,

"Look at me." And then slowly motioned for you to breathe in and out. Steadily. Evenly. You followed his motion, hearing the soft sound of his own breath against the inside of his mask. You still had tears in your eyes, but you were quick to blink them away as you held tightly onto Vincent's sweater. You faintly heard Bo grumble,

"Acting like she's the one that's been stabbed." And Vincent looked over to give a small glare towards his brother before he was turning his eye back to you. You had calmed, stopped your panic attack. But you hadn't stopped the tears pooling in your eyes. You stared up at the long-haired brunette. He was so gentle and kind, it struck you how much of a fool you'd been. Just how terrible your ex had been. You almost entertained the idea of not deserving Vincent, but your sister's voice was already in your head. _Shut the fuck up with that shit_. And you sniffled. You were still holding onto his sweater as you said,

"We, uh, we have to call the police." You sniffled, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve. But you knew what Bo was going to say before he'd even said it.

"Phone's down. Forgot to pay the bill." And you were close to worrying a hole through your cheek. He'd said the exact same thing when you'd wanted to call your hometowns sheriff office from the house. You looked back at Bo.

"Not the one at the shop." You said. You'd used it weekly, so you knew it worked. Bo stared at you, and then looked to Vincent. Finally, after a moment, he said,

"I'm sorry- You wanna go back to where I got _stabbed?_ " Bo said, gesturing to the knife on the countertop. Alright, perhaps not. But you looked between the twins, trying to think of what the three of you could do. They weren't being helpful, especially when Bo pushed himself away from the counter and left the kitchen. You were changing your grip, grabbing Vincent's sleeves.

"We should just- head to your workshop. Lock both of the doors and hide! He won't find us and we can just- we can-" But you didn't need to see Vincent's face to know that he wasn't going to agree with you. You could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he reached to caress your face. Vincent wasn't going to hide from him. He wasn't going to run. "Please. I don't want you- any of you to get hurt." You said, and you could already feel tears pooling in your eyes again.

The last time you'd seen your ex he'd taken everything from you. You'd just started to find something here in Ambrose, even if it was because you were hiding. You didn't want to lose any of them, but especially Vincent. You were holding onto him tightly, and Vincent signed,

"I'll keep you safe." And that's when a tear slipped out. You didn't want Vincent to keep you safe. You wanted to keep both of you safe. Hidden away. But, when Bo came back, he had a shotgun in his hands and you could guess that neither of them intended on staying hidden.

You hated this plan. You absolutely hated it. The three of you were going to use the tunnels to get to the House of Wax, and then you were supposed to make a run for the auto shop. Best case scenario, your ex hadn't moved an inch and was still unconscious on the floor of Bo's auto shop. Worst case scenario- Well, you didn't want to think of that. 

Bo had his shot-gun, Vincent had his knives, and you'd been given a bat. You held it tightly in your hands, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you'd had a bat the last time you saw him. When you finally got to the door leading up into the House of Wax, you reached for one of Vincent's hands and gave it a hard squeeze.

"I don't wanna do this." You said quickly, and you ignored how Bo rolled his eyes. He'd suggested just leaving you in the tunnels, but Vincent knew you were about half a step away from a panic attack. Anyways, it was you that he wanted. They couldn't just leave you alone.

"You'll be fine." Vincent told you, but that wasn't what you were concerned about. You looked at Bo, before you looked back at Vincent and signed as you whispered,

"I don't want you to get hurt." And you almost thought Vincent was smiling behind his mask. You could tell he was about to sign something before Bo cut your moment short.

"Are you two done? I want this to be over." He said, and you gave Bo a pass for being a dick. He'd been stabbed, so he had some lee-way. You reached to hold Vincent's hand. If only to ground yourself. You held it tightly as Bo pushed open the door. He went first, looking around before he was gesturing for you two to follow. Vincent had you go first so you were flanked by them. Unable to just get grabbed and tugged away. While you wanted to keep Vincent's hand in yours, you could do that and effectively hold the bat. So, you settled for the hand that Vincent would brush against your lower back, letting you know that he was still behind you as you made your way towards the front of the house. Just as you heard the front door slam. A loud voice called your name before it said,

"I know you're in here! I know that stupid-" There was the sound of something being knocked over. Kicked over, you guessed, before he continued. "Grease monkey has been keeping you here. I saw your car, honey." His voice was almost a sing-song. "Come on, help me out, darlin'." And the three of you looked eachother. Your knuckles were turning white as Bo lead you into the main hall. You heard something crash, the sound of him knocking something over. You found him in the main room, having yanked the velvet rope from the stairs. Knocked over one of Vincent's wax people. Your ex probably thought you were up there, hiding above just like you'd done last time. Not this time. Bo cocked his gun, and your ex whipped around. 

You watched him take in the sight. Three on one. One with a gun, one with a bat, and one with some knives. It wasn't an easy fight. Hell, it was probably a sure-fire loss. Your ex smiled, holding up his hands and the knife he'd brought with him. The knife that hadn't gone into Bo's shoulder.

"Hey there, stranger." You said, and your skin crawled from the familiarity in his voice. The way he said it as if he was flirting with you. You didn't respond, but part of you relaxed. Your ex wasn't going to win this. He couldn't sweet-talk his way out of this one. "You look well." But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

"You look like shit." You replied. It was the truth. His hair was greasy, his clothes were disheveled. It looked like he'd barely taken a shower since the last time you saw him, and, if you looked close enough, you thought those were the same pants. But, he looked wild. In all the time you'd known him, you'd never seen him not look put together. You realized then that whatever sanity he had retained was slipping, and he was probably more dangerous than ever. Your ex smirked, his face tilting to the side as he suppressed a laugh. Like he wanted to say something crude back.

"Okay, maybe I deserved that one." He said, and you glared at him. He deserved more than just a few harsh words. He came down the steps slowly, his hands still raised as he approached. Bo moved, walking side-ways, just so he'd have a clear shot. Vincent stayed close, his hand reaching for the back of your shirt. Grounding you with the smallest of touches. "So, what happens now?" He asked, and if looks could kill- 

"We call the police. You go to jail." You said it confidently, venom lacing your voice. It almost seemed too nice, but you'd sleep better knowing he was behind bars. With your sister's murder, his stalking, and Bo's injury? Hell, you could put him away for life. But your ex let out a whistle, shaking his head.

"Mm, I don't think so." He said. He was smiling, laughing to himself as he looked over at Bo and Vincent. You didn't know what was so funny, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. Couldn't even bother to look around the room. "I don't think you will. _And_ , I don't think I'm going anywhere." He said, taking another step closer. You lifted your bat, and your ex paused. Holding his hands up higher. Then, his face broke out into a grin. "Y'know, you got _some_ luck, but, honestly darlin'? You'd probably be better coming home with me." He said, and you stared at him. You knew this was just one of his tactics. He tried to demonize the world around you before, make it seem like he was the victim. Like he was the only one you could trust.

"Stop talking." You told him. You didn't want to hear his voice. It was the same sickening voice that had spat those words in your face. It made your blood pump, images from that night flash right in front of your eyes. But it wasn't his words repeating in your head, it was your own. _I should've killed that sonovabitch._ You tried to shake them loose, find something to ground you, but Vincent wasn't touching you anymore. He'd stepped away, stepped back. 

"Y'know, I thought you'd be happy to see me. Run into my arms. But it looks like they've been treating you just _fine_ , huh. Lemme guess. You got a new loverboy too. Ooh, ooh, it's one of _them_ , isn't it?" He said, making his way subtly closer. Closing the distance inch by inch as you fought his scrutiny. Knowing there was something behind his playful banter, his seemingly cheerful words. He'd always been the possessive type, and he looked between them. He tapped his chin, before he looked at Vincent. Glanced to what was in his hands. Your ex shook the knife in his own hands. "Knowing your type, I'm guessing phantom here." He said, and you bit your tongue. He was right. He was _always_ fucking right. He knew you like the back of his own hand and you hated it. But he _wasn't_ right about Vincent. He couldn't even compare the two of them. Your ex was an abuser and a killer. Vincent? _Vincent wouldn't hurt a fly_ , you thought. Still, he'd guessed correct. It was easy when he had a fifty-fifty shot. When you didn't reply, he grinned.

"Shut up." You said, your voice hard as stone. You stopped the words you knew he was going to say, silenced his gloating. It was difficult. Standing up to him. Trying to get him to listen. Especially when he just _wouldn't_. But he seemed to put his boasting on pause. He could do that later. Instead, he used a single finger to gesture around.

"Have you looked around this town?" He asked, and you lifted a hand to your brow. Trying to push back the images, the thoughts. But, when he took a step, your hand was right back around the bat.

"Stay back!" You yelled, but your ex tilted his head. Stared at you. His face blank and his eyes boring into yours. You tried to think of something to push the thoughts away. Keep yourself grounded. But you couldn't go too far back in your memory or else you'd see _her_. So, you thought of Vincent. Of his gifts. Of laughing with Lester while watching TV. Going to get dinner with Bo and that time you'd made a noise of disgust when he'd inhaled an entire plate of wings. Anything to keep yourself stable.

"You haven't, huh. She doesn't know, does she?" He said, and this time his words were directed at Bo. You could feel your mind revving, your vision turning red. He _always_ pulled this _shit_. Acted like you weren't there and talked about you right in front of you. Infantilised you. Talked to you like you didn't know your ups from your downs. "Well, no surprise there. You might've been the one that went to school, but you always were the dumb twin. Couldn't get shit past your sister-" And you snapped. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: major character death, mental breakdowns, graphic descriptions of blood/gore/violence, canon-typical violence, manipulation, suicide/self-harm mention but not actually done

Neither Bo nor Vincent knew what you were going to do. How this was going to play out. But it was a test that both of them needed to see. Would you fall prey to him? Let him draw you back in? Or would you defy him? Choose them? Yourself? 

They needed to see it with their own eyes, so they'd both stepped back. Letting him bait you and letting him get close, even if Vincent was gripping his knives at the thought of your ex lashing out. Even if some of his words made him _want_ Bo to step in. Or want to step in himself.

But both of the twins knew that, until it was completely necessary, neither of them could step in. They wouldn't be able to explain away murdering him right in front of you, and they hadn't had much of a plan when Vincent had refused to leave you alone at the house. Bo knew they'd needed to do something before you were able to get to a phone, and he was silently relieved that your ex was up and about. Whatever move was made, your ex had to go first. Or so they thought.

Vincent could hardly stand the way he was taunting you. He drew out his knife, even when Bo shot him a glare. Bo was supposed to be the impulsive one out of the two of them. But Vincent could help the way his grip tightened when he talked to you, correctly guessed that you were with him. Sort of.

The pair of you had just had your first kiss, but it wasn't like you were _together_ like Vincent wanted you to be. He pushed those thoughts away, thinking that it wasn't the time to be debating about where you would stand after everything. Even if how you would react to the town was a constant presence in the front of his mind.

Part of him thought you would never understand. That you'd never accept Ambrose when you found out what really went on in there. What he and his brothers did. But that changed when he saw you step forward.

***

You hadn't even realized how close he'd gotten to you. It only took you a few steps for you to be within swinging distance, and you knocked him right back on his ass.

"Don't talk about her!" You shrieked, and you were swinging again just as the words left his mouth,

"Wait, look-" You felt almost outside your body, out of your own control as you hit him over the head with the bat. You were crying, you could feel the warmth down your cheeks. Or maybe that was the splatters of his blood when you hit him again.

"You don't get to talk about her! You killed her!" You screamed, repeating those last three words over and over like a mantra. You hit him again and again and again. Until his face no longer resembled the one he'd had before. Until his confident smile was gone. Until he'd never be able to say her name again, never be able to say _yours_ again. Until the only thing staring up at you was a mess of blood and broken flesh. "She was gonna go back to school! She was going to make something of herself, you _asshole_." You didn't stop until the bat broke, snapping from the force of your blow and the blunt contact with his skull. 

Part of you hadn't even realized what you'd been doing. It was too easy. A few swings, a repeated motion. That was all it took. You thought it would be harder, would be some moral instinct that would stop you. You were panting, and your arms ached. You stared at the unrecognizable face of your ex. You took deep breaths as you stared, watching the blood pool behind his head. It hit you then as you watched him lay there. Silent and unmoving. You'd killed _him_.

You dropped the broken bat, letting it clatter to the floor. Your stomach lurched at the smell, at the sight. You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to swallow down the urge to vomit as you forced yourself to look away. The images of blood, of a broken, battered body brought up images you wished you could forget. Your own sister lifeless and limp. 

You nearly fell to your knees, but someone was grabbing you from behind. Holding you. You knew it was Vincent before you even looked, and you turned to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He was lifting you up with ease, pulling you up so you wrapped your legs around him and carrying you away from the body. He set you down on the stairs, and sat next to you as he pulled your face into his hands.

You were crying. You were shaking. You hadn't meant to do it, even if you'd carried through on every swing. You'd just been so _angry_. You'd wanted him gone, wanted to stop being afraid. You hadn't realized that you'd been babbling, telling him all of this. You were begging him to believe you, but Vincent didn't speak. He didn't even sign. He simply tried to wipe the tears from your face and calm you down. You were hyperventilating, and you'd end up passing out if he didn't get you to breathe. You hadn't even noticed how your ex had been pointing towards the broken body of one of Vincent's wax figures, his finger unmoving as it pointed at the arm he'd broken off of it. The arm that had blood and bone inside of it.

You held Vincent's mask, before your arms were wrapping tight around his shoulders. You hugged him, crying into his neck as he did his best attempt to soothe you. His hands ran over your back, but it couldn't change anything. It couldn't change what you'd done. And it couldn't change that, despite everything, it wasn't _him_ that you felt bad for. You were scared and shocked of what you'd done, by the fact that you'd taken another human life. By the fact that you didn't feel an ounce of regret, and, rather, felt a heaviness lift off your shoulders. You were crying because you would probably go for jail for this, crying for the life you'd had ahead of you. Crying over what you were going to lose. 

"What are we-" You hiccuped, pulling back slightly. "What are we gonna do?" You asked. You were scared of the answer you'd receive. But Bo was the one that answered, and you watched as he kicked your ex's foot. Just to make sure.

"Don't worry, darlin', we'll take care of it." He said, and you sniffled as you stared at him as confusion took your focus.

***

You stared at the wall, hugging Vincent's pillow to your chest. It had been three days. You knew that the boys had gotten rid of the body. You knew that Lester had been the one to dump it. And you knew what happened inside the town. 

They'd told you after you'd stopped crying, when Vincent had finally gotten you to calm down completely and had been petting your hair while you leaned against him on the stairs. With the twins on either side of you, Bo told you what their plan for the town was. You stared at him, realizing that he was just as insane as your ex. If not more. But you didn't say anything as he continued,

"So, we won't tell. Don't worry about that at all." He said, reaching out to play with the ends of your hair. You'd leaned away, and masked it by nuzzling further into Vincent. You looked up at him, eyes wide as you hoped he would realize just how insane this sounded. Turning people into wax to fulfill a wish of their dead mother's? It was cracked, plain and simple. But, Bo didn't stop there. He let out a little laugh. "Too bad you bashed his face in. Vincent could've made something real nice outta him." And you froze. You stared at him, his one blue eye staring back. You hadn't connected the dots, at least not completely. 

Vincent killed just like Bo did. Worse. He made art out of their corpses. Suddenly, you could feel the urge to vomit come back. You'd touched the wax figures. Examined them. How had you never noticed? You looked away from Vincent, and tried to focus on something that wasn't the body in the center of the room. 

"Honestly, didn't think you were gonna do something like that. Didn't think you had it in you. Bet it felt good, huh?" And you didn't want to admit that it did. That, if anything, you were relieved. But, after glancing at him, you knew he would wait for your response. There was a pause before you finally gave him a nod. 

You reached for Vincent's hand, holding it tight. Even if you knew what he'd done, that the very hands you were holding sculpted _people_. That those people were dead and frozen in wax all over town. But, you needed something to ground you. Something to build a foundation on. And Bo was too unstable of a choice.

"Now, don't get any ideas. Vincent's sweet on you, so we won't do nothing, but," He paused, a small grin on his face. "Don't forget, sweetheart. In the eyes of the law, you're just as guilty as we are."

 _In the eyes of the law, you're just as guilty as we are._ You'd frozen at those words. They'd been stuck in your mind for days, and they were the ones that were stuck inside your head as you stared at the pipes that ran under the Sinclair house. You hadn't talked to any of them much, with Vincent checking in and bringing you breakfast. You left the dirty dishes on his bedside table, but you found that you hadn't been picking at your food much. Lester came down every so often, usually when he was done work. You could tell that he wasn't used to being in Vincent's workshop, but it was just to say hello, ask how you were. You gave him the same answers, even if they felt hollow on your tongue.

You'd asked him once if he knew what his brothers did, and he'd hesitated to reply. It'd told you all you needed to know, but you waited for him to admit it. He did, and you'd looked away. _A town full of murderers and accomplices_ , you thought numbly to yourself. _Well, it wasn't like the town was that full anyways_ , you added. You almost smiled at that thought, but immediately felt bad for making jokes about it. 

It explained a lot. Why Bo and Vincent hadn't wanted you to explore. Why they hadn't wanted to go to the police. Hell, part of you wondered what had happened if you had found out. Would you be a wax figure stuck somewhere? Forever frozen in whatever position Vincent put you in?

But what could you say? What could you do? You hadn't killed your ex out of self defense. Sure, he'd been antagonizing you, but that didn't mean he deserved to get _murdered_. And the Sinclair's killed anyone that came to their town. Well, almost everyone. If you went to the police, one thing was for sure. All of you would end up behind bars.

It didn't help that your knife had disappeared, the one you always carried inside your boot. You'd fallen asleep and it was gone, and you didn't truly care to ask. You knew what had happened to it, or you could imagine. They didn't want you to do anything rash, whether that involved yourself or them. Vincent didn't leave you alone either. He was at your beck and call, barely a few steps away for the entirety of the day. You appreciated it to some degree, but that didn't mean you would listen to him when he tried to coax you out of bed. You knew what they thought would happen. Leave you alone for too long and you might make a run for it. Or end it all. For awhile, those had seemed like the only two options.

You brought the blanket up closer to your face. It was a difficult situation. You weren't truly a prisoner here. It was moreso that you didn't really have the option to leave anymore. They weren't denying you it, it just wasn't a choice at all. Where could you go? Who could you talk to? You were sure if you went outside Ambrose, the confession would just spill out of your mouth. And, as much as you hated to admit it, the only people who understood were the Sinclair's. They were probably the only three people in the world that wouldn't judge you for what you'd done. And you couldn't kill yourself. You wouldn't give your ex the satisfaction. So, for three days, you'd pondered what else you could do. 

You sighed. You couldn't stare at the pipes anymore. If you did, you were sure you'd go insane. And, just like always, Vincent ended up always being your perfect distraction.

He was working on something you knew was for you. It was something to add to your collection up at the house, but you had only been up there a few times since what had happened in the House of Wax. Hell, you'd barely left the basement. You laid in Vincent's bed, trying to hold onto whatever string of sanity was left. You couldn't stand to be alone with Bo, at least now that you knew just how psychotic he really was. Vincent- Well, you knew he wasn't much better. But, you liked to imagine he was. It was the only way you could justify your continued attraction to him. 

You watched him for a moment, watching how he moved. His actions were sure and precise, practiced. He knew his craft and he knew how to make whatever he imagined inside his head. His hands were gentle too. They'd been treating you like you were made out of glass. And Vincent himself was patient. He didn't rush you or try to force you to be happy, tell you to cheer up like Bo did. He didn't expect you to put on a smile and be fine. He let you be upset, and let you take the time you needed. As you continued to stare, you realized a third option. You supposed it should've been obvious to you before.

You could stay.

No matter how crazy the Sinclair's were or how utterly insane what they did was, was there really a better option? You couldn't think of one. So, you lifted yourself to sit up, calling to the man that was sitting in front of his word table with sculpting tools in hand,

"Vincent?" You asked. Your voice was rough from underuse, and you cleared it when he looked over at you. He paused, holding the tool as he stared over at you. You motioned for him to come closer, and he was quick to abandon whatever he'd been working on. He crept over, stopping at the side of the bed until you motioned again. He climbed into the bed with you, curling up with you and letting you rest your head on his chest. You wrapped your arms around him, burying into his warmth. Finally, after a minute, you could feel yourself breaking. It became harder and harder to keep the pieces of yourself glued together, and when Vincent started petting your head you completely let go. Leaving your pieces for Vincent to fix.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut chapter is finally here
> 
> TW: oral, fingering, cum eating, blood/gore, trauma, hypersexuality as a way to cope my dudes

It had been a month and you'd been thinking about it. You knew you shouldn't have. That it did nothing to help you. That going over the events over and over in your mind would only bring back more pain. But, like a wound on the inside of your cheek, you couldn't help but touch it. 

You were pouring your cup of coffee, thinking about the blood. The gore. The broken face and his final cry. You thought about what he'd been trying to tell you, what he'd been trying to get at. The wax bodies all over town. He'd mentioned your type, and, for a moment, you wondered if you really were just attracted to crazy. You shook your head. Vincent wasn't crazy. Bo on the other hand. Maybe. But Vincent was lucid. And he still did the thing he did. You bit the inside of your cheek. Okay, maybe your track record wasn't amazing. And maybe if you'd listened to him- 

"Shit." You said, feeling the hot coffee touch your hand. Your thoughts had gone elsewhere for too long, to the point where you'd overfilled your cup until the coffee spread across the counter and down onto the floor. You were quick to grab some paper towels to clean up your mess, and Vincent was reaching over to help you. He quickly signed,

"You okay?" And you gave him a nod. It wasn't a lie. Physically, you hadn't been hurt more than a minor shock of the initial burn. Mentally, however? That was another story. You ended up dumping out a little bit of your cup, just so you wouldn't end up spilling it on you way down to the workshop. 

You spent all of your time with Vincent. You went down to his workshop with him, carrying your coffee and your breakfast. You were going to spend some time reading, maybe take a nap, and try your best to hold onto your slipping sanity. Vincent, despite his hobby, was a big help. He understood that the whole event was traumatizing, and your hesitance to really leave the safety of the workshop. It was away from the rest of the world, perfectly hidden and the perfect place to recoup yourself. He would let you lay in his bed, reading, sleeping, or even prepping for some more lessons for the others. 

But, after you finished eating, you couldn't find it in you to pick up the book you'd left on the side of Vincent's bed. You knew you could try your hand at drawing, as Vincent had offered to let you use any of his notebooks and had given you some of his own lessons. After a moment, you asked for some of his pencils and he was quick to offer you a variety of drawing tools. Charcoal, pencils, pens, markers. You almost wanted to ask if he had crayons. You chose a simple pencil, before you reached for one of his notebooks and began flipping through the pages. Vincent always let you use whatever you wanted. He had plenty of notebooks, plenty of tools. It was rare that he'd ever need all of them, and he always told you that it was all at your disposal.

So, you hadn't expected to find what you did. You knew that Vincent drew you. Hell, you'd posed for some of his drawings. But _this_ was not the usual portraits you found. You flipped further, quickly figuring out that _this_ notebook seemed to have one specific purpose. Part of you wanted to just tuck it away and pretend you never saw anything. And another part of you wanted to tease him ruthlessly for it. 

Finally, you decided on the former. You tucked that particular notebook away, looking for a different one for you to begin sketching in. As much as you just wanted to draw whatever came to mind, you found the only thing that came to mind was Vincent.

You and Vincent had kissed and done some light touching, but your original path had been undoubtedly slowed by what happened with your ex. Vincent didn't want to push, you knew. So, the most you'd done was a few light kisses that you'd initiated, and it was always nothing more than something to relieve some of your stress or to bask in the comfort of the early morning. You were aware that Vincent was inexperienced, but it was almost reassuring to see that he did desire you. Even if he planned on keeping it to himself.

You stared at him for a moment. You watched the way his hands moved, how they moved with the utmost precision and certainty. How his movements were both gentle and sure, like a well oiled machine. The muscle you knew he possessed was covered by a sweater that hung off of him, and his long black hair was tied back at his neck. You wished for this morning to return, wished that you'd spent more time running your hands through it. Well, you knew you'd get to play with it when you settled for bed.

You drew him until Vincent was done with his pet project, a lamp for the upstairs bedroom. When Vincent came over to peek at what you'd been drawing, you thought you could see a crinkle in his eye and you watched the way he played with his hands. He was embarrassed, you could tell, and, after a moment, he signed,

"Me?" And you gave him a smile and a nod. He turned away, busying himself by fixing his ponytail. But you knew he was pleased. You smiled to yourself. Even if it wasn't as good as Vincent's, he still liked it. He grabbed the lamp, holding it with one arm. You were quick to say and sign,

"You're going upstairs?" And he gave you a nod. After a moment, he moved it in his arms to comfortably sign,

"You don't have to come." He said, and you bit your lip. You knew that he knew you liked to avoid the House of Wax as much as possible. After everything that happened there, he understood. You frowned. It had once been your favorite place in all of Ambrose. You glanced down the hallway. But you didn't really like being alone in the basement either. You sighed, deciding that you'd rather face your issues than stay alone in the basement.

"It's fine. I'll come." You said, and you pulled on your slippers and one of Vincent's sweaters over your pajamas. You couldn't ignore how Vincent seemed happy, even if you wouldn't say anything. He held out his hand for you, and you took it and gave it a squeeze.

He guided you through the underground tunnels, even if you'd been going through them long enough to know where to go. He walked up the steps, and you absentmindly reached out to touch the faces carved into the walls as Vincent walked in front of you. You were following him like a lost little puppy, your mind elsewhere as you tried not to let memories of what happened the month before flood your mind. Surprisingly, you were able to find a pretty good distraction. 

You thought about the images that Vincent had drawn, all the positions he must've imagined. Even if he was inexperienced, he definitely had quite the imagination. As Vincent guided you and you trailed behind him silently, your mind flooding with different images of all the ways Vincent could take you. On your back, one your stomach, on your knees. You tried not to blush as you thought a particular angle that made it clear Vincent had been imagining something slightly more self serving. 

It made it so you could completely ignore all the terrible reminders of what you'd done, up until you were in the wax bedroom Vincent had created. You glanced at the bed, immediately imagining Vincent in-between your legs. And then you in-between _his_. It was almost unfair. Vincent seemed to know about every little dip and curve you had, how he knew that you'd figure out another time, but you had barely seen anything. A couple of flashes here or there, but Vincent was shy. He kept his clothes on even when you did some experimental touching. You bit your lip, just before Vincent signed,

"You okay?"

***

Vincent knew this was a bad idea, but he didn't want to force you to stay in the basement. Any time you came up into the House of Wax usually didn't end well, and his nerves only grew as your silence stretched on. 

He watched how you bit your lip, refused to meet his eyes. How you seemed far off and in your own head, millions of miles away from him and where you were. He thought the flush on your cheeks was just from the heat of wearing his sweater. Why would it be from anything else?

Even when you nodded and assured him that you were fine, Vincent didn't believe you. He _knew_ this was a bad idea. He knew he should've just waited until you went to take a nap. Then, he could've slipped away and been back before you ever knew the wiser. Instead, he'd brought you here and now you were- His self deprecating paused as you reached a hand under his sweater. 

His hand instantly went around your wrist, but he didn't pull it away. It was out of surprise more than anything, but his grip quickly relaxed. Still, his bigger hands circled your wrist as you hand moved. It was just the lightest of touches, your fingertips barely brushing against his skin. You were touching the flesh of his side, before your hand was sliding up and you were moving your palm across his abdomen. Feeling his happy trail, before teasing the edge of his sweatpants. He stared down at you, watching as you gazed up at him. You were still biting your lip, your cheeks were still flushed, but he finally noticed the way your pupils had blown out and- _Oh_ . Vincent wasn't the most experienced. It's probably why it took him this long to figure out what you'd been thinking about. Or what he assumed you were. A quick thought told him he was being silly, that you couldn't _possibly_ want that. 

Even as you leaned up to nip and kiss at his collarbone, as your hands pushed his shift up further and felt the expanse of his chest. Even as you leaned forward to suck a hickey into his chest, leaving him practically trembling. He didn't believe you could want him like that up until you whispered,

***

"Vincent, can I touch you?" You watched as a look of surprise was quick to flit through his eye. He gave you a nod, almost a jerk of his head compared to his usual slow movements. You gave him a grin, before you were sliding your hand under his pants. You'd never been so bold before with him, but you couldn't help it. You wanted to know. Wanted to feel the weight in your hand. On your tongue. 

You barely had to brush your fingers against the front of his briefs before you could feel that he was half-hard already. A few more light brushes and he was straining against the material of his underwear. Vincent let out a soft noise, the sound of a puff of air hitting his mask. You had barely touched him, but he already looked half-wrecked. It occurred to you then that Vincent probably wouldn't last long, and it was strange to you. To hold power over someone.

You pushed his sweatpants down his narrow hips, sinking onto your knees in front of him. He practically jumped when he realized what you were doing, and you quickly asked,

"Is this alright?" But he was quick to nod. He leaned back, resting back on the dresser he'd made. He motioned for you to continue, and you smiled up to him as you leaned forward to nuzzle the crotch of his pants. Your nose bumped along his clothed cock, before you were giving it an experimental lick through the fabric of his underwear. You heard him sigh again, and you watched as he tightened his grip on the edge of the dresser. "You're so handsome, Vincent." You whispered the praise, kissing along the waistband before you were tugging his underwear down. You looked up, seeing that his flush was heading down his neck and towards the tips of his ears. Once again you asked, "You're okay, right? You'll tell me if you want me to stop?" He'd started to fist his sweater, to bring it up to hide his face. He gave you another quick nod and you pulled him free. You gave him a few experimental pumps, leaning in to lick along his shaft to lubricate your hand. You watched how Vincent shivered at the feeling of your wet appendage, and you had to bite back a satisfied grin. After that, you didn't waste any time wrapping your mouth around the head of his cock.

You sucked him off slowly, flattening your tongue against the underside as you bobbed your head half-way. He was big, as big as his height and the size of his hands may have suggested, and thick. Even if you were more experienced than him, you found it difficult to fit him completely down your throat.

His hands tugged and pulled at the fabric of his sweater before one of them was cupping the back of your neck. He tilted his hips forward, rocking his hips ever so slightly with every bob of your head. This was the most noise you ever heard Vincent make. He let out little groans and sounds, half-keened whines and breathless gasps. He shivered and trembled with every flick of your tongue.You held his hips, thumbing them as you stared up at him through your lashes. He was keeping his head tossed back, his eye firmly closed from what you could tell. But when he'd finally looked down at you and made eye contact with you, you practically felt his resolve snap. 

His hand moved from your neck to the back of your head. He only pressed your head down farther for a few thrusts, ones that practically slid his cock all the way down your throat, before you felt him tense. He held your head, doubling over as he slid his cock down the back of your throat. You could feel his cum hitting the back of your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow around his cock. You could feel tears in the corners of your eyes, and you tried to blink them away as you focused on trying not to gag. He let out a strangled sound, no doubt feeling the muscles of your throat work around his cock. His hips stuttered, before he was pulling out with panting breaths. He leaned back against dresser, his head falling back and strands of his hair falling out from his ponytail from where he'd gripped at it. You almost wished you could take a picture.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, watching him as he calmed himself down and you helped him tuck himself away. You lifted yourself to your feet with his help, and he signed a simple,

"You okay?" And you nearly laughed. Vincent seemed to ask you that at least five times a day. 

"I'm fine. Are _you_ okay?" You asked, prodding his chest. You heard him laugh, a soft and raspy sound. He gave you a nod, even if it still seemed like he was collecting himself. He reached out, running a hand through your hair before settling his palm against your cheek. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, running over the sensitive skin. You hummed, parting your lips and sucking his thumb into your mouth. You barely realized what you were doing before you did it, but you gave his thumb a slow suck as you ran your tongue over it. You watched as his eye darkened once more, and you squeaked when he pulled his hand away and tugged you up like you didn't weigh a thing. 

You squealed and laughed when your back hit the wax mattress, which, despite looking comfortable, was only slightly less forgiving than if he'd shoved you against the wall. But you barely had time to think about that. Vincent was quickly pushing his mask away from his face and you shut your eyes out of habit. You felt his lips clumsily press against yours, and his confidence was either from the month of practice or from the rage of horniness that was flooding his system. He boxed you in with one arm, his other hand quick to trace all the parts he'd already memorized. You giggled. You couldn't help it. You'd never felt Vincent so eager, so _confident_. It sent the rush of a thrill through you, and you were wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest against his to get him as close as possible. 

"Touch me, touch me, touch me," You practically begged, your legs curling around his hips and drawing him closer. He groaned at the press of his front against yours, undeniably sensitive from before. He drew his lips from yours, mouthing down your cheek to your jaw until he reached your neck. His fingers weren't moving fast enough, and you pressed your chest against his hand to urge him further as he fondled you through your shirt. Even as he slipped his hand underneath, teasing and gently twisting your nipples, you knew it wouldn't be enough. You rolled your hips against his, trying to get any sort of friction as you tugged on his black strands of hair. He moaned against your skin, before his lips were attempting to clamp back onto yours. You begged for more, and Vincent wasn't one to keep you waiting. His hand rubbed you through the fabric of your bottoms, and he swallowed the moan that left your lips. He traced your heat through the fabric, pressing hard enough to feel his touch.

It wasn't enough until his hand was slipping inside, slipping past your panties and running his bare fingertips through the folds of your cunt. You whined, gripping his shoulders and bucking your hips against his hand. Vincent pulled away from the kiss, but you were too distracted to care as you guided his fingers over your aching clit. 

***

Vincent was watching you, memorizing the expressions you made as you screwed your eyes closed and gasped. You gasped and whined, bucking and practically throbbing against his hand. When he dipped his fingers inside you, he found feel your walls sucking his fingers up. Trying to drag them deeper and swallow them in your warm, wet heat. 

His cock was already heavy and hard in his sweatpants again, but he fought the urge to grind against your thigh as he fingered you. This was about _you_. He pressed the heel of his palm against the spot you'd lead him to, watching the way you shuddered and trembled underneath him. He drew everything in, only muffling your sounds when he needed your lips against his.

He kissed you anywhere his lips reached, trying to silently tell you how beautiful you were. How precious you looked. Everything that he couldn't sign to you with your eyes closed and one of his hands down your pants, his fingers buried and thrusting inside of you.

***

You whimpered as he pushed you further and further, your hips jerking as Vincent listened to every word you told him. He moved his fingers just so, seeming to even listen just to the way your voice would change. You'd been touched before, either by yourself or by your ex, but you couldn't remember a time you'd been listened to so eagerly before. Had someone that could reach the spots inside you that you couldn't.

"Right there, Vincent. _Ah-_ Just like that." He rubbed that spot over and over until your hips were jerking. Whether to get closer or farther away you didn't know. But Vincent pulled back almost completely. You could feel his weight shift, and then you felt his other hand holding you down by pressing his large hand flat against your stomach. So you couldn't move and so you were forced to _feel_ . "Oh, _Vincent_." Your voice went up an octave. You tried to fist the sheets of the bed, but all you did was scrape your nails against the wax. You tried to move your hips, but you couldn't. You tried to shift away from the intensity of the pleasure, of how he'd shifted from using the heel of his palm and instead circled your clit with his thumb, but he was relentless. Persistent with his pleasure.

You felt close to tears, a stream of cries and praise leaving your lips before you could feel your thighs start to shake. Your abdomen start to tense. You reached to hold onto his forearm, your nails biting into his skin as the other gripped your own hair. You came around his fingers, a cry of his name leaving your lips as you arched your head back. He didn't stop, even if his actions slowed. You shivered and trembled through the aftershocks, twitching before you finally begged him,

"Okay, okay, okay, enough. Fuck- Vincent, I can't-" And he finally drew his hand away. You panted and relaxed, slumping against the solid block of wax and waiting until Vincent told you he was ready for you to look. Instead, you felt the plushness of his lips press against yours. It was soft and short, before he was kissing you again. And again, and again. You giggled, running your fingers through the strands of his hair and kissing him back each time. He kissed your cheek and your forehead, before he pressed soft kisses to the back of your eyelids. They nearly fluttered open, but then Vincent did it again. You made a face, questioning if you thought he was telling you to do what you thought he was. Then, he did it again and you heard the raspy whisper of the word,

"Open." And you knew that you hadn't been mistaken. It was rare that you heard his voice. You were almost sure that it had been the first time. You knew he didn't speak simply because it pained him to do so, and you knew that he wouldn't do it unless he was absolutely sure. So, slowly, you peeled open your eyes and looked into the half-scarred face of your lover. Your hand glided over the smooth, untouched side of his face. One that was identical to Bo's. You didn't dare touch the scar tissue, as you didn't want to potentially hurt him. But, still, your eyes glided over it as if there wasn't a blemish there. Softly, you whispered,

"Hello, handsome." And you finally got to watch him blush properly.


End file.
